Surprising Speed
by Neteret
Summary: Six months ago, Tim Speedle was shot and he died. The CSI: Miami team were in mourning for a long time. Imagine solving a crime with a surprising reminder of that death. Add another crime full of it's own surprises. Add a touch of romance. Stir, enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

His pale legs extending below the mid-calf length black robe decorated with jungle flora and brightly colored parrots, the red head leaned against the wall. He didn't know how long he had been staring at the black night watching the tropical storm driving rain drops against his livingroom's sliding glass door with the fanaticism of terrorists bent on committing as much destructive damage as possible in their deaths. The lightning was distracting and the crackling thunder had signaled the brunt of the storm was directly over his condo. He didn't pay too much attention. He was lost in his thoughts of Tim Speedle, now dead for about six months.

Though it was Calleigh Duquesne who was the first member of the forensics team, Speed joined shortly afterwards.

Actually, it had been Alexx Woods who had pushed the six foot redhead police detective into forensics. As Medical Examiner, she was the only person trained in the science in Miami. She was good but she only saw the bodies briefly in the field. After that they were hauled to her examining room for autopsy. Then the police detectives did what they could to find evidence with no training in forensic sciences. There was a need for the science and Horatio Caine picked up the gauntlet thrown by the black woman.

Where Calleigh was a blond, green eyed chirping little bird who loved firearms of any kind, Speed was a dark, curly haired laconic expert in almost anything else. Only forward women upset him but never for very long.

After Speed, Horatio found Eric Delko who had a naturally keen eye and quick mind and was driving a tow truck doing nothing with his education in computers. When Eric joined the team, Speed and he became the comedy team of the lab, constantly jibing at each other.

And then, suddenly, Speed was dead, killed on the job. They were investigating a jewelry store, talking with the owner. Two men tried to crawl to the door. When they were spotted they began to fire. Speed had a clear shot at the escaping gunman, he fired and his gun clicked once and again. He looked at his weapon and, at that moment, the gunman shot him in the heart. He went down onto his back, blood coming out from the hole in his back where the bullet had exited and from his mouth. Horatio had rushed to his side, knowing the worst had happened to this dear friend and not wanting to believe it. He called for help and then watched Speed try to speak and then die.

He didn't know how long he kneeled by the body only that the only thing that made him move was hearing Alexx' voice say, "Let me have him now, Horatio."

He had gotten uselessly angry with the jewelry store owner who he wanted to blame. Yes, it was his men who had fired the shot but it was Speed's gun that had misfired. Speed was notorious for not cleaning his pistol after every firing at the least, every month on average and every week if he cared about his protection. Horatio had even given Speed a gun cleaning kit as a birthday present.

Since then, Horatio hadn't slept well. Not that he needed much sleep. Lately, at night, he had been aware of every wave that hit the beach below his condo, every screaming siren sound that wound through the high rise buildings along the beach, every police warning to loud partyers around a fire pit.

This time, he blamed his being up at three in the morning on possibly being hungry so he had heated a cup of , forcing a yawn, he put the cup down of soup he had hardly tasted and walked slowly to bed.

# # #

The six A.M. call to go to the canal came much too early the next morning. Now, the storm had passed and nothing of it remained but the thunderheads marching far to the west, still venting what energy was left on the main body of Florida. It would be nothing but a few puffs of clouds by the time it hit the Florida west coast and Gulf of Mexico. Here, the air felt slightly more muggy than usual as the ground steamed under the warming sun. Horatio knew that the humidity would rise as the day wore on. But then, it always did. He never paid attention to the oppressiveness.

"What have we got Calleigh?"

Calleigh turned from her position of taking another photo. "Oh, good morning Horatio." Her southern accent wound around his name like the sweet smell of honeysuckle. "Unidentified naked male body found in the canal. Alexx just arrived."

Horatio nodded as he took note of the drag marks in the damp ground where the body had been pulled from the canal. He also saw bubbles in the water showing a diver's presence below the water's surface. Moments later a familiar face behind a dive mask, with lips distorted by the breathing apparatus, appeared.

The figure took the wide mouth gear out and slid the mask back. "Nothing else down there H. I don't even think he was killed here. None of the ground by the bank shows any disturbance and there's no trace of clothing down there. My guess is he was dumped from a boat or maybe floated here. The storm runoff could have pushed him this far before he rose to the surface."

Calleigh listened to Eric and blinked slowly. "That was a fairly heavy storm last night, Eric. I can't imagine a boat being out in that weather.

"Are you looking for a weapon?" Horatio called out.

A shrug of shoulders and a flash of white teeth in a quick smile, "I didn't see any wounds so I don't know what I'm looking for. You better talk to Alexx on that one."

"Then keep looking for clothing down there. They have more of a tendency to drop in water but a good rain could wash them away."

Another quick grin was covered by the SCUBA mouthpiece followed by the mask over the eyes. The head disappeared.

Calleigh returned to taking photographs.

Scrutinizing the ground Horatio walked slowly to where Alexx Woods was squatting on her heels by a body. "Alexx, what have we got here?"

Without raising her head, the medical examiner chuckled. "Horatio, if I wasn't so good at sensing your presence I'd have jumped a mile when you spoke. You walk quiet even on gritty dirt."

"How are you this morning?" Horatio asked as he looked at the cuticles of his fingernails on his right hand.

"Oh, you know I'm always fine. It's the poor babies like this that haven't fared so well. Oh, Love, what did you do to get yourself into this fix?" She directed this last remark to the victim as she turned it over.

Her gasp brought Horatio's head up. "Oh my God, Horatio, look."

The red headed detective walked to within a foot of the victim and looked down in silence. Not yet bloated by time in the water, the features were stunningly close to Tim Speedle's. To see him lying dead again set his breathing on shallow.

Alexx was obviously having a hard time at seeing this as well. She had a close relationship with all of the CSI team members but somehow, Tim had always seemed special to her. The greatest joy had been that day when he showed her he actually listened to her medical explanations, could repeat them back in different words. The hardest moments in her life had been when she performed his autopsy, when she had dug the bullet out from his heart.

After swallowing, he asked quietly, "Time of death?"

His words brought Alexx back from those dark memories. No, this wasn't Tim, she could see it now. She took a deep breath to center herself. "Well, for sure, he wasn't in the water for very long. His fingers are a bit wrinkled but that's all. The water temp had to have slowed the decomposition. He was found right at the canal edge in shallow water otherwise he would be underwater and not have been found until decomp gases forced him to the surface after a couple of days. So, liver temp may be off somewhat from the warm rain flooding the canal but I'm guessing TOD is between ten P.M. and midnight last night if that late. The report was made at five thirty this morning by a crew that was inspecting the canal for any storm damage."

"Eric said there are no marks on the back. I don't think he looked at the face."

Dr. Woods looked up and smiled. Her dark skin glowed in the morning sun's light. "If that means marks enough to cause death like wounds, he's right. More, there is no foam in the mouth. This is a good indication that he didn't drown. However, there are a few black and blue marks, old and new. I'll be able to make judgment on what those marks mean when I get him back to my table."

Horatio knew better than to ask about the COD in the field from his old friend. Alexx was meticulous to a fault, never making guesses before doing a complete autopsy. A licensed physician, skilled in post mortem forensics, she was very comfortable with helping the dead speak about their demise.

Stripping off her gloves and picking up the camera she had used to photograph every angle of the body, she stood and signaled the two men standing by the parked van. They approached, respectfully lifted the body into a black bag and put it onto a collapsed gurney. Lifting the bed up, they zipped the bag and took it to the van. Once the back was closed, the two climbed in front and drove off.

Watching the van head down the dirt road and turn onto the street that would take it to the morgue, the woman sighed. "I wish I could see a good side to this form of job security Horatio."

"As do I Alexx."

"I'll see you when you get to the lab." She headed to her car.

"Indeed you will."

There was actually no reason to assure each other of meeting again but they did it anyway. Horatio knew approximately how much time Alexx would need to do an autopsy and she knew he'd be there looking for information when she was finished. He had known her for over six years and had gotten so he could pin the time it took her to finish an autopsy within an hour or so. The exchange was simply a friendly habit.

Noticing Calleigh wasn't looking at the ground so much as up and down the canal, Horatio walked over to her. "Do you see something?"

"Well, it's what I'm not seeing here. Eric and I both walked this side and used binoculars to look at that side for evidence of this being the dump site. There are no recent tread marks, not even traces of footprints or drag marks other than ours. The storm was heavy so that could be too much to hope for anyway. While Eric went into the water, I kept looking but now I'm wondering if there might have been some other way the body got here. I mean, suppose he was dead long enough for decomp gases to float him. Another thought is that the runoff from the storm could have increased the flow of water where it dragged him here to the shallow side. There are houses upstream so he could have been dumped there late at night and then have come down. I looked at the satellite map for this area on the computer in the hummer and there are all kinds of homes with boat slips close to the edge of the water to say nothing of a few empty lots. Horatio, I just don't think we're going to find anything here."

The lieutenant had been listening to the information carefully. As he considered it a moment, he raised his hands to his waist placing them behind his badge on the left side of his hip and behind his I.D. on the right side. Coming to a conclusion he flipped his chin around in a circle and said, "Well, now we know where not to look for the place of death so we'll look for where he did die. I'll go drive by those homes on this side of the canal and see what I can see. Would you mind waiting for Eric to come up?"

Calleigh's smile alone was a force of nature. "Sure. Do you want us to look at the places on the other side?"

"No more than a couple of miles. If he was dumped around piers, his progress to this point would have been slowed and Alexx is pretty sure he hadn't been in the water for that long."

Calleigh nodded thoughtfully. "Actually there's probably a low probability he came to this side from that. Should we even bother?"

"The water flow from drainage could have brought him across. Check empty lots and perhaps homes that have easy access to the water. I think we'll be back here when we find out who he is." He turned and walked away.

Not feeling slighted in the least, knowing this was a sign he was leaving her in charge to finish off the scene before leaving, Calleigh turned to keep a look out for the bubbles that signaled where Eric was. She walked over to the man holding the rifle, ready to fire on any alligators. "Anything?"

"Nope"

"Good. If you see him come up before I do, tell him to come on in. We're done here for now."

Any CSI is never done looking over a scene even after deciding there isn't anything more to find. Besides, Calleigh was ever hopeful just by nature. To her sunny way of thinking, you just never knew what the wind might have brought from the real scene of the crime or perhaps what was brought up when the body was dragged from the side of the canal. She daintily skirted the area still marked in yellow tape, kept her green eyes wide, tilted her head this way and that. Occasionally she raised the large camera she toted and snapped three photos, one at regular focus, one slightly enlarged and the last at full magnification. She knew that about half of all photos taken at any crime scene would be disregarded but one never knew which half.

She heard a splash and turned at about the same time the uni with the rifle was raising his arm to signal Eric. By the time she reached the canal's edge, Eric was pausing to remove his foot flippers. "Where'd H go?"

"Well that's a fine greeting," Calleigh said lightly. "Did you find something?"

"I'm sorry Cal. No, I was just wondering and no, I didn't find anything, not even a washing machine." That was the old joke among divers. It seemed that no matter where you went when diving in Miami, you came across an old washing machine.

The two walked over to the Hummer as they talked.

"It's getting so people want the cash for the scrap metal I guess. Horatio and I decided this just wasn't the crime site. He drove up the road on this side to see what he could find and said we're to check out the other side."

Eric already stripping out of his wetsuit, nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

Calleigh thanked the armed officer for his diligence and told him he could return to the station.

Ten minutes later the two were headed down the highway to a street that would take them over a bridge across the canal to the other side. From there they would drive back toward the body site until they ran out of houses and any possible area where the body could have drifted across to the other side. At one point, they saw Horatio's little red sports car and gave him a honk. He returned the sound twice and then Eric heard his phone.

"You find anything H?"

"Not a thing Eric. It was a long shot but…"

Eric finished the thought, "…we never leave any stone unturned."

After a pause, Eric heard, "Hold on, I have another call coming in."

Eric barely had time to relay the information to Calleigh when Horatio came back on the line.

"Another call just came in. Eric you drop Calleigh off at the lab and then report to 2495 NW 24th. Bring Mr. Wolfe with you please. I'll see you there."

Eric closed his phone and rolled his eyes before starting the car again.

Recognizing his sign of disgust Calleigh laughed. "Come on Eric, Ryan isn't that bad to work with."

"Mr. Oh-I-know-it-all is a pain."

"He's just new. He wants to show us he can do the job."

"Calleigh, it's not that he's new. I mean, okay, he knows his stuff. It's the better-than-thou attitude of his. I'm trying to ignore it but sometimes he just pushes my buttons."

"You see? It's not just his fault. You need a little give here as well."

Eric fell silent, huddling himself to the wheel as much as the seat belt would allow and concentrated on driving. Calleigh turned her eyes to the passing scenery out the side window. She was only interested in controversy for as long as the other person was. As much a she liked Eric, she knew he had had his say and didn't feel the need to back it up.

On the way in to her part of the lab, Calleigh gave Ryan, the newest member to the CSI team, a heads up so he would be ready with his kit outside the building. She did not say who he would be riding with, only that Horatio had requested his presence at a crime scene. She had to admit that she wished she were a fly in the car on the drive there.

Actually, Calleigh had guessed what would happen fairly accurately. She didn't know Wolfe all that well but Eric had made his feelings about him known a few times. As she expected, when she held the door open and then bade goodbye to Eric, Ryan froze in his tracks.

"You aren't coming?"

"Horatio wants you two. I'll work on what we found at the scene, take care of the photos and all."

Handling his still shiny new field kit gingerly, Ryan eyed Eric briefly before opening the back passenger door and putting it onto the floor in front of the seat. Eric gave Ryan his best 'Speedle blank' stare, waiting for him to get into the car. Then he hardly waited for Ryan to buckle up before rounding the compass star mosaic inlaid in the drive in front of the MDPD and CSI Crime Lab building and speeding off.

Hearing the intake of breath that preceded conversation, Eric said quietly, "H didn't say what he had so don't ask."

Ryan laid his head back and stared out the window allowing fate to take him where it wanted him to be. He didn't like having no control but he had no choice either. Accepting lack of control was an ever ongoing battle for the rookie CSI who had an obsessive compulsive disorder. Putting order into his life gave him a sense of control even though he knew there was no such thing.

Inside the lab, Calleigh knew it was too soon to ask Alexx if she had processed the body. She printed out the crime scene photos as transparencies and laid them out on the light table discarding some, rearranging others. In the end, she had a collection of prints primarily of the dead body and a few of the ground at the edge of the canal. These last were to show the lack of evidence, practically useless in a courtroom but a step in the right direction for an investigation. She also put a few plastic baggies, sealed in red tape by several pictures.

Occasionally, she would hike herself up onto a counter top and gaze at the arrangement. Then, she would jump down and put one picture in a different place or even several, push a baggie here and then there. Each time, there was a longer and longer period between rearrangements.

Suddenly the cell phone in her pocket rang and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Giggling at herself, she answered.

"What's so funny Calleigh?" Alexx's warm voice asked.

Calleigh related how deep in thought she'd been and then reassured the M.E. that she was glad to get her call. "You aren't done with the autopsy already?"

"Oh, sweetheart, I haven't even gotten that far yet. I can tell you, however, who he is. I had to reconstitute a finger to get a proper print. He is Navy Lieutenant-Commander Michael Beeks, stationed at the naval air station at Jacksonville."

"The one that is almost 350 miles from here?"

"Huh, wait 'til you hear the strange part; his address on the driver's license is here in Miami."

"What? Does he do recruiting work?"

"Hey, I'll figure out how he died, you figure out what he did when he was alive."

"Alexx, you have a deal. Thanks."

Calleigh ended the call, pulled Horatio's name from her list and punched the 'call' button.

"Calleigh?"

She heard several voices in the background, all high pitched and in near panic.

"It sounds like you are up to you ass in alligators."

"And no way to drain the swamp."

She could tell he was smiling. "Alexx I.D.'d the canal man. He's a navy lieutenant-commander stationed at Jacksonville."

"A good distance from home."

"His home address is here in Miami so I'll call the base and see if anyone can tell us why he was down here."

"Good. Keep in touch."

"Good luck with the alligators."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Horatio found that most of the homes by the canal were fenced and gated. The rest had boats or cars blocking access to the water. Checking the few empty lots he found none showed signs of activity such as carrying or dragging a body or tire tracks. He did find the very large spoor of a dog unaccompanied by human prints. He could only hope that the dog had owners who were on the hunt for him. Seeing nothing worth investigating at the moment, Horatio checked his watch. It was nearly one in the afternoon already. He turned onto a street that would take him to the quickest path to the lab. As usual he had other cases and a pile of paperwork waiting for him.

Ruminating on how the body could have gotten into the water, how he might have died without being shot, stabbed or drowning, how he got the bruises, how long he had been dead and much more, the CSI lieutenant sped his way down the causeway. As he exited to Flagler, his cell rang and he pulled to the side of the road.

# # #

At half past two in the afternoon. Deeshawn Cook's school had let out early to allow teachers to catch up on class work and for a minutes' staff meeting. At ten minutes to three he had walked into his aunt's living room, given her a kiss on the cheek, answered her query about how school was, fine, and walked to his bedroom which had once served as a den. He was in his room looking at his computer, deciding what he should do first. He knew his aunt probably had cookies and lemonade in the kitchen. Maybe he'd go grab a plate and a glass and check his email before getting down to homework. He was also going to unpack his posters and decided where to put them this weekend. He stretched, his hands reaching for the rain blemished ceiling of the old house. The young teen never heard the shot.

# # #

A moment after the call to Eric, Horatio was back on the I-95 Expressway headed north to West Little River, an area east of Little Havana.

Once he was on the right street, he had no trouble finding the address. The house had several patrol cars with lights flashing parked at all angles in the street. An ambulance was on standby as usual in the event of need. The M.E. van hadn't arrived yet.

At the door, he did not have to pull his jacket back to show his badge, his red hair being his I.D. Giving the small front room a cursory glance, he spotted a tall bald head through the open kitchen door talking to someone. He caught the man's eye and bent his head towards a quiet corner in the parlor.

"Frank?" What he meant was, 'tell me what has happened here.'

Police Detective Frank Tripp's small mouth drooped more at the edges than usual. "A kid in the bedroom, shot. Only about fifteen years old, Horatio, the homeowner's nephew." The heavy Texas accent dropped each word like a ten pound stone.

"Where is the family?"

"Most are in the kitchen." Frank's chin pointed out the direction. "When you talk to them be careful, they are taking this hard and seem to be looking for shoulders to cry on."

Horatio nodded and walked to a door at one side of the living room. He would face the family later, after getting his shoulder ready to bear up under family grief. That was just part of the job. On the approach to the door, he took notice of the living room's particulars. Instead of a couch, the largest seating area was a settee upholstered in dark blue print with bowed legs. With the dark upholstery, the effect of the dark, deeply carved wood was stern and unforgiving. In front sat a glass topped coffee table in the same carving sat in front. One corner of the room held a very comfortable looking red velvet rocker and in another, a larger rocker in black canvass that looked as comfortable as a rock. One other corner held an armchair in gold print upholstery, two floor lamps from some bygone era, against unimaginative wall paper of small flowers in lines running down between pink lines finished the effect. Neat, clean and serviceable.

An officer standing by the bedroom door, guarding against unauthorized viewers, nodded to the lieutenant as he entered the room.

Horatio knew that dead people never looked as large or as old as they did in life. This kid barely looked seven. His body seemed to have shriveled so that the clothing was more prominent than the wearer. He kneeled by the boy and said a prayer for the departed soul as he often did. Then, standing, he took in the whole scene, imagining where the boy had been standing, where the bullet came from and more, where the shooter had been.

"Oh, Lieutenant, you beat me here."

"Yes Fred, but not by much. I'm just taking a preliminary look. My team will be here shortly to do a full workup. I'll go talk to the family while you take over."

Fred White, still not too sure of himself as an M.E. paused as if going over a list of what needed to be done next. His head bobbed slightly several times. "I won't move the body until your team take the first pictures."

"You don't have a camera?"

"Uh, no, they don't let us small fry play with the nice toys." He smiled apologetically. "For now I'm just a body handler with expertise enough to know what not to do to preserve autopsy forensic evidence." The thin young man with a prominent heavy jaw and watery blue eyes shrugged.

"I understand. When CSIs Delko and Wolfe come in, tell them I'll be interviewing the aunt in the kitchen and then I'll come back here."

"Will do, Lieutenant." Avoiding eye contact, Fred bent down as if involved in the wonders of death. He worked part time with Alexx and part time with another morgue in Fort Lauderdale.

Through the kitchen door, Horatio saw Tripp speaking with a small group of people, all of who seemed to want to answer him at once. Having been in that position more than once, his sympathy went out to him.

Inside, an officer introduced him to the boy's aunt, Maven Lorento. She, as he would later find, was as attractive as the rest of her family. He was sure she was probably even more so when her face wasn't swollen from crying.

Introducing himself, he asked if she could explain what had happened.

Bursting into a new flood of tears and with a heavy southern accent she cried, "Oh lawd! I cain't, I just cain't tell it again. He's daid!"

The rest of the women in the room made a move as a single mass in the direction of the bereaved woman.

Frank looked at one of the uniformed officers and moved his head to the back door leading to the yard. On cue, he and the officer opened their arms in a protective, gathering motion. "C'mon folks, don't you think you could use some fresh air? Those chairs in the shade in the yard sure look inviting. I know it's hard but we can talk better to y'all out there. Lieutenant Caine will talk with Ms. Maven here." He didn't usually lay his Texan on so thick except when necessity called for it, like now. Surrounding the group of five women with their arms, Frank and the uni herded them out the door.

Once they were alone, Horatio pulled up a chair so he could face the woman handing her a handkerchief as he did so. "Can you tell me who he is? Is he your son?" He had measured every word with forethought.

Pulled up short by the misidentification, the woman's teary eyes opened wide as did her mouth. "No! He's my nephew. Such a dear sweet boy. If my brother was still alive he'd be so sad!"

"What about his mother?"

"Oh, you mean Deeshawn's mother? She ran off years ago with some man when Deeshawn was two. We never knew why."

"How old is he?" Again, the misuse of the verb was to help her through the agonizing shock of the loss.

"He's…he was fourteen going on fifteen next month." Though a few tears kept leaking from her eyes, her voice was becoming stronger, more steady.

"What did you know about his friends?"

"Not much. My brother has only been dead for a couple of months. He was crossing a street, just minding his own business when a drunk driver hit him." Fresh tears flowed.

"Was the man caught?"

"Yes, tried and found guilty, but it ain't going to bring my brother back!"

"Is the man incarcerated?"

"No, it was his first offense and he got probation."

"So, is there any reason to think this might be retaliation?"

The woman's eyes seemed to be seeing for the first time since he had walked into the room. They wandered from the floor to the drawers under the sink to the refrigerator quietly humming in the corner. "No, I don't think so. I was at the man's trial and I don't think he had anyone but his lawyer with him. He was all weepy and all, saying how sorry he was, how he wished he could stop himself from drinking. Then, when the judge gave him the probation he went all weepy again.

"Anyhow, that's how long Deeshawn has been living with my daughter and me. My husband passed several years ago."

Seeing another possibility of a flood coming, Horatio skirted the issue of the dead husband. "Has Deeshawn said anything about school?"

"You mean anything bad like with teachers?" She looked up with worried brows slanted up. "No, he liked school. It's the same school he was in already. Leroy, my brother, Deeshawn's father, he lived a couple of blocks over on the other side of the school from us. Deeshawn, he made really good grades, was always on the honor list."

"Did he say anything about being bullied or pressured to join a gang?"

Maven put the handkerchief to face again in silent grief. When she recovered, she answered, "I'm sorry Detective…what was your name again?"

"Lieutenant Caine, Ma'am." Horatio recognized that she was going into shock, feeling the need to apologize for everything.

"I'm so sorry. I just don't know if I'm coming or going."

"I understand entirely. Now, what did you know about any peer pressure?"

"Peer…?" The word almost caught the agitated woman by surprise. "Oh, you mean the gang or bullying things? Why, I sure don't think so. He had a few friends from a math club he belonged to. They were all in the Honor Society too. I think they sort of protected each other from bullying, stayed together in hallways and walking each other to school. Mostly those three came to visit a couple of times a week. They liked playing games." The thought of her nephew's life forced tears from her eyes. "Oh, God, this is too much to bear!"

Horatio stood and gently put his hand on her shoulder. Bending down, he whispered quietly in her ear. "God never gives us more than we can handle."

Maven suddenly stood, whirled around and flung herself against Horatio, wrapping her arms around him. She buried her face into his jacket and wept uncontrollably. "That poor baby!" she wailed. "Leroy trusted his care to me and now he's dead!"

At that moment, Tripp entered from the back yard and only with great control saved himself from bursting into laughter. He had been in that same situation and had never known what to do; to see the usually taciturn lieutenant captured by the woman, the freckles on his dismayed face disappearing in a red glow that highlighted his eyes was something to behold. Seeing the flush increase at being caught by his presence Tripp came to and rushed to the man's aid.

"Ma'am, I think your family wants to be with you now. Come on, let me take you out back." He pried her grip loose, found the handkerchief tightly clasped in one hand, pulled it out and put it back. At the same time he put an arm gently around her shoulders and directed her to the back door. From the small back porch, he led her down the steps and across the yard to her family. As soon as she reached them, she disappeared in a circle her of their arms.

"I'll let you folks take care of her for a while. After a bit, we might need to ask you some more questions." He backed away as he spoke so as not to be pulled into the vortex of extreme loving care. He had several experiences in years past where he had stayed close to people taking care of their beloved bereaved and was taken into the group by gentle force. It was hard to extract one's self after that. With practice, he had found ways of staying away from such circles without being rude.

Inside the house, he found Horatio using some paper toweling to mop his jacket and shirt dry. "Thank you, Francis, that was smoothly done."

"I agree if I do say so myself. She caught you by surprise?"

Horatio beamed a rare smile, staring down at the floor. "She did."

"Been there, got the T-shirt, wore it out before I caught on how to see it coming."

"I thought I did by now. Obviously I need a refresher course."

"It couldn't have anything to do with your hair."

Horatio flicked his head to one side and bounced his eyebrows up and down a couple of times. "Living under it, I have a tendency to forget." He knew better than to say Frank might forget his bald pate once in a while. The man had had nothing more than a fringe around his head in the twelve years he had known him and often brought up the fact at the very mention of hair.

"I got her with her family now. I'd say give her half an hour. When you see a family member fussing in the kitchen, making tea or whatever, you know you can safely approach."

"That's good to know, thank you. I think I hear Eric and Mr. Wolfe out there so if you'll excuse me."

"Yeah, I'm going to go out front and see what I have to do. What do you want done if any of my guys finds a shell casing?"

"I'm assuming you have the front taped off?"

"I hope they did what I told them to. I have a couple of wet paints who were first to arrive on the scene. Once they confirmed the shooting, all they did was crowd control until I arrived; forgot every word of training they ever learned." The edges of Frank's mouth drew together.

Horatio nodded with understanding, having been 'wet paint' himself many years ago. The phrase was used to describe uniformed officers who were fresh out of police academy. Oh, the excitement and the pain of those days. He noticed Frank didn't sound all that angry as much as frustrated. No doubt he recalled his own days of forgetting the proper steps to sealing a crime scene.

"I'll be in the bedroom for a few minutes."

"I'll be out front for as long as it takes." The six foot, three inch detective took heavy strides towards the front door.

Horatio again took in the features large and small of the living room, hoping to notice anything out of place. There was nothing obvious in the clutter of everyday living except for the broken coffee cup in front of the couch. No doubt it had been dropped at the sound of the gun shot.

In the bedroom, the small form had already been removed and Eric and Ryan were beginning the laborious process of looking for clues in the boy's room.

Ryan was first to point out, "Horatio, this is really clean for a fourteen year old's room."

"That, Mr. Wolfe, is because he has only lived here for a month. He had lived with his father until he was killed by a drunk driver. The mother is out of the picture so he moved to live here with his aunt."

"It's bad enough to be shot but after that kind of misery, it's a shame," Eric pointed out.

"Well, it will be easier to process the room," Wolfe said grimly.

Eric gave the rookie CSI a sour look.

"The aunt mentioned that Deeshawn had three friends from a math club that came to visit."

"So he was a nerd?" asked Ryan with wide eyed interest.

"Hey, now they call them smart or even future CSIs," Eric said sternly.

"The point at the moment gentlemen is to find the fingerprints and anything else that might tell us why Deeshawn was shot."

Without another word, both men turned to their jobs at hand. When each looked up, one was surprised again that the boss was gone. Eric was used to the silent arrivals and departures. Ryan figured it was a show of his boss' disappointment in his hoof in mouth disease.

Horatio, far from thinking about Ryan, stepped out onto the wide front porch to observe what was going on in the front of the house. Now the yellow tape was wrapped from tree to bush, encompassing the entire front of the house. Frank was leaning against his car while watching several unis pacing slowly back and forth across the lawn and the grass between the sidewalk and the street. Horatio hoped they were searching for a bullet casing. There was no guarantee one could be found but he could wish for it. If found, it could be matched with the bullet in the boy's body and with the type of weapon used, then they would be closer to finding the gun and then the person who used it. To anyone not acquainted with modern scientific methods, this would probably seem unlikely. But then, back in the day when Dr. Lacassagne started solving murder cases in France by doing autopsies, studying the bullets taken from the bodies and their markings, examining stomach contents and so on people thought his solves were nothing short of miraculous. Later, his student, Edmond Locard would reminisce at great length about the love he and all of Lacassagne's students had for the great doctor and all he taught them. Locard then added to the general rules of looking for evidence by pointing out that no two surfaces contacted one another without each leaving a trace on the other.

Horatio tried to live up to those original teachings and precedents, never always feeling he did so. But then, one can widen the scope of such knowledge though only seldom improve on it.

The lanky red head was roused from his reverie when one of the young officers stopped and raised his arm with a call out to Tripp. "Here, sir.

Not looking hopeful, rather with a face that said he expected that the rookie had found a rock or a leaf, Frank trudged to the side of the freshly dressed man and squatted down. Standing, he motioned another officer with one hand filled with plastic markers and the other filled with numbered flags on wire sticks. Horatio could hear him instructing another officer to take a photo and then mark down what the item was with the number of the flag. Frank then caught Horatio's eye and nodded. The lieutenant almost breathed a sigh of relief even though it was too early for that.

A high pitched whistle made him turn to look through the screen door. He was rewarded with the sight of a woman in the kitchen gathering cups onto a tray with a pile of tea bags and containers for cream and sugar.

Passing by the bedroom, he looked in and only got negative shakes of two heads. He continued on.

"May I be of some assistance?" He had mastered the quiet, reassuring voice and the gentle smile, especially for women and children.

"Oh, I'm fine, I can handle it," the woman replied. Though her skin was lighter than Ms. Lorento's, the family resemblance was clear.

"Tell you what, I'll carry and you open the door. Then you can pour and serve."

A bit flustered, the gold in her prominent cheeks highlighted by a rosy glow, the woman nodded with a lovely smile. Once the pot of hot water was set on the tray, she went to the back door and held it wide. As Horatio stepped through the door, he knew she was looking over at the group with a grin.

"Ladies," he greeted them. After setting the tray on the end of the picnic table, he sat on the bench on the opposite side of table from the aunt.

While the women fluttered over the tea, serving themselves, dipping the bags, taking milk, sugar or nothing, Horatio looked at each of them, noting resemblances or lack, behavior under the stress of the moment and more. Seldom had he seen such an attractive family. For the most part, even the darkest face had a golden tint that came from deep underneath. More, he was fairly sure their hair wasn't wigs, and all of it was lustrous. The youngest seemed to be perhaps in her mid teens, who sat next to Ms. Lorento. From the way the woman frequently grasped at the girl's hand, he judged that the child was her daughter.

In answer to his thoughts, Maven said, "Lieutenant Caine, this is my daughter Teshonda."

Nodding in his best courtly manner, he acknowledged it was, "a pleasure."

"I'm really sad Deeshawn is dead. I always wanted a brother."

"I understand he was good in math."

"Yeah, he was younger but he could help me figure out calculus problems like it was nothing."

"He was younger? You seem to be pretty young."

Teshonda dipped her head bashfully but spoke with a sure tone. "I'm sixteen."

"Then you are very mature for your years," he smiled. Before she could answer, he went on, "Did you meet his math club friends?"

"Sometimes. They seemed to be afraid of me though and kept the door shut mostly."

"Oh baby," said her mother, "they were just shy, that's all. I guess it doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

When she saw her mother's eyes begin to well up, Teshonda immediately apologized and hugged her.

Seeing their heads rise, Horatio turned to see Frank coming through the side gate with some men. All of them had that 'time to interview the witnesses again' look. Horatio decided that there probably wouldn't be much more information he could get without knowing the right questions to ask he excused himself. Passing by Frank, he said quietly, "Eric and Mr. Wolfe haven't found much so far. Did your men find a weapon?"

Frank shook his head. "You'll know when I do."

When the team is finished here, I'll send them in search of the math club friends."

"Going to do a GSR test on kids?" The derisive tone showed his trust in CSI methods as opposed to plain police work.

"If I have reason to do so, Frank, I will."

Green eyes met blue in respectful standoff.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Alexx, did you get the second body?" Even though Horatio spoke quietly, his voice seemed to echo in the cool autopsy room.

"I did Horatio. I did a quick exam and got the bullet out of that poor boy. I sent it to Calleigh. I'll do the rest when I finish with Lieutenant-Commander Beeks." She nodded to the second table.

"Speaking of whom?" He walked to the covered form.

"He died of a broken neck and suffocation by water. By that, I mean he didn't die of drowning."

"Say again?"

Pulling the sheet to just below the shoulder level Alexx explained, "Someone broke the fourth and fifth vertebrae in his neck and then dumped him into the canal. He didn't have much water in his lungs because his diaphragm couldn't operate to open or close the lungs. About all he could do was move his arms a little which would cause his torso to open and close slightly, like bellows, and this drew water into his nose and throat and that is where the suffocation comes in. The water didn't go as far as his lungs, just stayed in his throat. Being in the water, probably face down, sealed his fate. Moving his arms even with the C4 injury could have allowed him to live long enough to get him onto respirator which could have saved his life. Because the water was in his throat no air could get to his lungs."

"How do you know someone did it and it wasn't just a freak accident?"

Alexx turned her beautiful cat eyes at the lieutenant. "I don't. Horatio, this is where you and your team come in. Now, like they say in the late night ads, 'but wait, there's more.' Here, help me roll him onto his shoulder please." Together they rolled Beeks until his back was exposed. "I had to use some contrasting ink on the mark. Otherwise it is just a barely discernable dent in the back of his neck." She used an ALS to give more contrast.

Horatio bent his head and twisted it over so he could see the three inch wide by one and a half inch half-moon mark highlighted by the purple light. "There is some kind of patterning to the mark."

"I also found a short black cotton fiber embedded in the skin. I sent that up as well."

"Only the one?"

Alexx put one hand on her hip. "He did probably get rained on last night so we're doing well to have the one.

"I also sent up a sample of the water from his throat. I checked it under my microscope and I'm fairly certain it comes from the same canal water we found him in."

"Anything else?"

"Not yet."

"Call me if you do find anything else."

"You know I will."

Both turned from each other, one to walk to the elevator and the other to commune with her dead bodies to ask what more information they could impart.

Leaving the chill quiet of the morgue, and walking the cool hall to the elevator, Horatio pressed the button for the third floor where the CSI lab was located. On the short ride up, he examined the skin around the nail of his right forefinger. A casual observer would have thought he was deciding what to have for dinner that night. They would have been wrong. His mind was busy mulling over the various possibilities of how Beeks could have ended up with a broken neck in the canal and then wondering who could have shot a twelve year old boy. This last just didn't have any of the earmarks of a common drive-by shooting. Shooters running by in their cars usually shot multiple times to make a point to someone. Unless Ms. Lorento was holding something back or perhaps her daughter wasn't as innocent as she seemed, there was no reason for their house to be a target.

The elevator door opened to the sound of Calleigh's voice calling out, "Two shots."

People closest to the gun room on their walk to another part of the lab put their hands to their ears and tried to hurry past. They were trampled by the sound waves of two sharp reports which cracked against walls.

Noting the look of calm satisfaction on Calleigh's face as she removed the protective ear covers, Horatio asked, "Please tell me a gun was found at the site of Deeshawn's death?"

"Not on site but very close. Eric and Ryan decided to walk to the school to make inquiries about the math club kids who were friends with Deeshawn. As they told it, while Eric thought of dumpster diving on the way, Ryan decided to look at street drains as possible disposal sites for a gun. It turned out that Ryan found the gun in the mouth of a drain just under the lip of a sidewalk. Then they realized the school was closed by then so they just trotted the gun here to me. The two are processing what they found in the boy's room now."

Horatio gave his watch a quick glance. Sure enough, it was nearly six thirty. He hadn't even noticed if the sun had set though it must have. My, how time flies when you're having fun.

"Thank you Calleigh. Why not finish up with the gun for today. I'll talk to you in a few minutes."

"Okay," she chirped. They both knew if he had asked her to stay all night checking out the gun she would have been more than pleased to do so. Guns held an endless fascination for her, not only for what they did but what they could reveal about who had last fired them.

Horatio found Eric and Ryan in the odd positions of working side by side at a lab table. He was well aware that they hadn't quite found their standing with each other so he expected them to be working apart. Ryan wanted to be part of the team and Eric was still in mourning for Speed. With neither willing to talk about the gap they usually found silence and space to be more comfortable.

Taking a moment to watch what was going on before entering the section, Horatio noticed that, when not talking, the two worked really well together. Apparently they were processing fingerprints, one taking the print transferred onto tape and making sure it was flat, the other laying it on the scanner to enter it into the computer to run against other prints in the Automated Fingerprint Identification System, AFIS.

The constant repetition caused Ryan's attention to lag long enough to glance up and see his boss standing by. The movement drew Erik's attention and the taller of the two waved Horatio in.

"We're nearly done here. H. Most of the prints are repeats in different places. None so far have a record."

"Which, being middle schoolers we generally don't expect."

Ryan shrugged. "Well, the aunt did say they were all belonged to the math club, didn't she? I wouldn't expect them to be exactly the B&E type."

"Just be sure to be at the school the first thing in the morning. We need as much information about Deeshawn's school life as we can get. Start with the principal to find out who was friends with Deeshawn."

"And who wasn't," added Eric.

"Would a principal know who wasn't friends with a kid? Most kids usually hide being bullied. Take it from me, I was something of a geek in school and I never let on who bullied me. I was sure they would have really let me have it if I said anything."

Horatio gave Ryan a cool blue eyed appraisal for a couple of seconds. "Perhaps the friends would be able to help out there, don't you think?"

Ryan dropped his eyes as he blushed. "Uh, well, maybe. I mean, my case was my own. I guess every kid that was smaller than the bullies and got better grades has their own story."

Eric stepped over and dropped a hand down on Ryan's shoulder. "Don't worry little buddy, when we get to the school tomorrow, I'll stand up for you."

It only took a moment for Ryan to answer. "Gee, gosh, that makes me feel really good. Can I you as a shield, so they don't shove little me into a locker?"

"Do that and I'll help the bullies."

Both looked to the doorway to see how the boss was observing the guff they were handing each other.

"Does he always disappear like that?"

"Pretty much. What's weird is how quick he appears just as you're about to call to say you found some evidence. So, let's finish up here and pack it in for the day so we can get an early start tomorrow."

"I'm with you there."

Horatio didn't hear these last remarks. He was glad the two were getting along and that was all he cared about. They understood what they were to do so he responded to the quiet ring tone coming from his coat pocket.

"Calleigh, are you done so soon?"

A moment later Calleigh looked up from the microscope that compared two bullets under close magnification. "I have good news and bad. I wanted to compare the bullet from Deeshawn's body with one fired from the gun Ryan found and it's a match. The only problem is there weren't any identifiable prints on the gun."

"None?"

"Smudges but that's all. It's really difficult to get prints from a gun handle. All I could make out was that the hand that held the gun was small."

"Could it be a small adult woman?"

"It doesn't cover the grip like an adult's would. I think there were two hands holding the gun, one to steady it and the other to pull the trigger. A woman might hold a gun like that but there wasn't enough coverage for even that. It's just too fuzzy for me to get a real idea about it."

By the way, has Beeks' family been notified?"

"Alexx contacted the base where he was stationed and they said they would be notifying the family the first thing in the morning. I'll talk to them tomorrow."

Calleigh paused and then asked, "Should I go talk with Ms. Lorento tomorrow? Maybe she or her daughter know more about the bullies than they wanted to talk about today."

Horatio looked up through his eyebrows. "You heard?"

Calleigh smiled sympathetically. "Sometimes people do get carried away in their grief, don't they?"

"That they do. I'm going to start charging the department for cleaning bills."

Calleigh laughed. "They'll change the dress code to cotton t-shirts before they pay for cleaning."

"No doubt. I'd better keep the thought to myself.

"Call me after the interview tomorrow."

"Will do."

Calleigh watched her boss take long strides down the hall to the elevators. She mused over what their lives would have been like had either one taken the next step in the obvious attraction they felt for one another. At first, those six years ago when the lab was little more than a closet and the rest of the police department detectives regarded her only as 'that pretty one they'd like to tap', Horatio had stood up for her with a quiet show of force that seemed to surprise the others. Apparently, when he was part of the police force, he had been regarded as a quiet team player. She had been present the day he removed his tie as a mark of officially being a Crime Scene Investigator, a CSI, head of an elite group. Doing this, he set himself apart from being one of the 'guys' and would brook no disregard or insult to anyone on his team. Not that she needed protection. She had always been able to take care of herself against pushy men. Her father had taught her to never take an insult personally and to always fight back fairly with an eye to coming out on top. She usually did.

They worked side by side, solving crimes by picking up evidence and scientifically linking it first to the murder and then following it back to the murderer. Sometimes it was through old proven means such as fingerprints and sometimes it was through chromatography, sometimes by chemistry and, of course the ever advancing use of DNA identification. Then Tim Speedle came in, and finally Eric Delko. Her relationship with these guys was always friendly and they never seemed interested in her sexually. This was fine by her. She believed in maintaining the best working conditions possible.

Yet, somehow, there was more between her and Horatio. They had never even so much as met for a drink after work unless in the company of the others. The only hint of what was going on was in their conversations such as what had just occurred. The talk was always quiet, always something of the personal thrown in with the everyday business of dealing with a crime, always when they were alone. If anyone else was present, even distantly within earshot, the tone of his voice was slightly higher and were always requests to look at this or do that and wondering if she had gotten around to another thing. In response, her mind whirred with machine precision marking everything into an order of when she could get to them. Watching absent mindedly as the elevator dial swung down to floor one she considered how the odd thing was, she never thought about the difference until moments like these, at the end of the work day when she was about to head for home alone.

What would it be like to be in that elevator, next to Horatio, wanting to hold his hand, not doing it because of the security cameras? No doubt they would drive home separately because of varying work schedules. But then, once behind closed doors, what would it be like? Quiet? Getting dinner together, commenting on some news item from the television they turned on without thought? Passionately grabbing at each other, letting dinner wait until their bodies were satisfied?

Realizing the elevator was returning, Calleigh made sure everything in the room was in order, turned off the light over her table and went to the locker room to retrieve her purse. She hurried, almost hoping to that Horatio had forgotten something and had returned. Looking up to the elevated office and finding it dark, she saw that the first of the night crew was heading to the locker rooms, turning on lights and getting ready for their shift. Not sure if she was relieved or let down, Calleigh put on her brave face, smiled at greetings and stepped into the elevator after it emptied out more night shift 'lab rats'.

# # #

Horatio stopped his car and spent several minutes in the circle in front of the forward slanted lab building. He could just barely see the light from the section of the lab where he had just left Calleigh. He could imagine her finishing up, carefully removing her white lab coat and calmly turning to look over the area once more before turning out the light. There, the light went out and next she went to the locker room.

What, he wondered, did she think about at the end of the day? What she would cook for dinner? Was she going to meet with friends? He hoped she was. He couldn't imagine her being alone.

This particular train of thought had started on the ride in the elevator. How did she know about the incident with Ms. Lorento in the kitchen? Frank wasn't one to pass on such a silly observation, was he? But then, Calleigh had a way of talking to people, getting information without seeming to be questioning. No doubt she learned this at her father's knee. Even in the current depths of his alcoholism, Mr. Duquesne showed sparks of the finer legal mind he'd once had. Calleigh combined this training with her own brains and beauty in such a winning way, people just gushed information to get her approval.

He had never been immune to her charm; he just had a different way of showing it. He put his TR-4 into gear and drove off asking himself why he had never moved on the urge to ask her out. Okay, yes, he was the head of the department and fraternization wasn't condoned even between equals much less upper and lower levels. Yeah, except that in his department, he did not consider himself as the head. The only difference between himself and his team was that he had years more experience in almost every field and he had a butt load of paperwork to do every day. He decided who did what but was always open to their ideas about how to do something better and places to look or people to talk to. So, again, why hadn't he tried to see if he and Calleigh could be interested in each other?

The answer was a darkness. It was always the same deep black memory, that stopped him from acting like an ordinary man with needs and desires. Then, coming through that dark, a bloody stain seeped through and finally when the shadows receded, the picture of his wife, stabbed many times was clear. It had been twenty years and he still mourned. Maybe if the bastard who had slaughtered her was caught, he would feel closure, feel like he could move on, live again, seek happiness. Until then, he could not.

When in New York as the youngest detective on the force, newly married, newly widowed, he had seen the devastation the killer had continued to wreak. The only witness to any of the crimes had been a child. She had seen her parents being butchered through the wooden louvers of the closet door where the killer had locked her. Somehow though, Jennifer Wilson couldn't remember his face, couldn't remember anything about him. Horatio had developed a selfish interest in her, keeping track of where she lived, contacting her once in a while to ask how she was doing, sending birthday cards. When she reached majority at eighteen, she insisted on moving out on her own. Rather than discourage her, he convinced her that living in Miami was much more fun than New York. That was when Jennifer found out the price for his interest was constantly having nightly watchdog at her house, one in plain clothes (himself) or uniform, paid for out of Horatio's private funds.

Unfortunately, it was all he could do in this case. The killer remained at large (or perhaps in prison for some unrelated crime) and unknown and there were no clues. His purpose in life was to protect that little girl and until she was safe from any threats, he couldn't get past that.

# # #

Calleigh sat in her car for some time without realizing it. The garage was dark and quiet, a good place for thinking and analyzing. In this case, her thoughts were analyzing why Horatio was interested in her and had never done anything about it. Not that her Southern Belle training would allow her to make the first step, but for sure, she could find a way to force him to. First, however, she had to know what stopped him. His past was dark and he sidestepped every question no matter how delicately she put it. She had even tried asking his current associates who had worked with him longest and they wouldn't or couldn't answer. Legally, she couldn't look at his private records either.

Okay, then, what to do that would encourage him to be more than a great man to work with and for? He wasn't tempted by her good looks, her blond hair, great smile and beautiful eyes. She knew what she had and how to use them all not only for personal advantage but on the job and none seemed to work on him. Suddenly she blinked her eyes, accepting that she had a puzzle that she had no solution for yet. The first thing a police officer learns is that every puzzle can be worked out; some take longer than others. She started her car and drove home.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Horatio had taken extra care with his grooming that morning. He arrived at the Beeks' home wearing a somber black jacket and a black and white striped shirt. The night before he had stopped at the barber's to shear off half an inch on the locks. In spite of his forty-five years he had a tendency to appear boyish when his forelock hung into his eyes and the wisps in back curled around his ears. It wouldn't do to look immature for this occasion.

On the way, he found himself looking for the words he would use. Although, after all of these years he hardly needed to rehearse the right words or attitude, he still did. Each case was different. Of course everything would be subject to change the moment he arrived and most certainly there was no telling what tact he would use as he drew information out of the widow. This was a murder case with no clues as to who had done it or why and he had to find as much as possible.

When he had checked the address, for some reason he wasn't too surprised to find it was one of those on the other side of the canal where he hadn't visited. Instead of fences and gates the homes here looked much like any suburban homes, set side by side, neatly manicured lawns in front, garage attached to two stories. Both the stately king and queen palm trees waved gracefully even in the slightest breeze. This was, of course, a great joy to the home and auto insurance companies since the fallen fronds and broken trees could cause all sorts of damage to property in the many storms and few people parked their cars in their garages which were used for storage. But then, this was a status symbol, a mark that the homeowner could afford these bothersome details. He also knew that the backs of these homes were not ordinary. Instead, each held piers for expensive boats. Of course the question as to whether Beeks had simply fallen off his pier, blown by a gust of wind while trying to secure some equipment came to mind. Time and questioning would tell.

Parking the hummer in front of the house, Horatio stepped over a palm frond no doubt blown across the walkway by the storm. Most of the branches and leaves in the other yards had been picked up. This house looked oddly undisturbed from the wind's destruction. Perhaps it was the husband's job to do the yard work.

Walking to the front door, he also took note of a rental truck backed into the driveway and a pair of women carrying a cardboard carton into it. One was older than the other, both a tad overweight and showing a pale blond resemblance. Tramping back down the truck ramp, they glanced at him and walked around to the rear of the house.

Although being greeted at the Beeks' front door by an officer in pristine summer dress whites was unexpected, it wasn't a surprise. These bearers of bad news stayed for as long as seemed necessary for the bereaved. Usually, however, he would have expected a member or friend of the family. Also unexpected was that the officer stepped forward and closed the door behind him.

"Lieutenant Caine, I took the call about your arrival and to say the least I'm glad you're here. We got here about an hour ago and I don't think I have ever seen a family react quite like this."

"Meaning?"

"We had just told Ms. Beeks the news and she immediately picked up the phone to tell her family. This isn't out of the ordinary but then twenty minutes later her mother and father and a sister showed up with that truck. After telling Ms. Beeks they would take care of things they started removing household goods from the home. The father is in the garage in back sorting out tools." The officer's gold aviator wings insignia flashed in the bright sun.

"And how is she now?"

"She's broken up like you'd expect a new widow to be, prostrate on the couch. Her son is by her holding her hand. We have been trying to explain what her next step should be, who to contact for officer's widow's benefits but I'm not sure we're getting through. We're used to that, just not this other stuff."

"And now I'm here to add to the mix."

The middle aged man with a slight paunch looked apologetic. "We'll be done shortly. It isn't our business how the family deals with grief, just to see that there is help around. We've asked about friends or neighbors and she just closes her eyes."

"I'll tell you what. While you take care of what you have to do with her, I'll go knock on some doors on the street. Someone might have seen something the night of the storm. At the very least, I can let people know what happened."

"Give us another half hour or so?"

"Here's my cell number. If you need to leave before I return, call me."

While copying Horatio's number into his phone the officer replied, "Fine, I'm Commander Parra. Captain Whitehead is inside."

Just as Commander Parra was about to close the door, Horatio turned and called out. "Excuse me. I do have one more question. If Beeks was stationed in Jacksonville, why did he live here in Miami?"

A quick frown passed over Parra's face before he spoke. "It's not unheard of for Navy flight officers to commute to their jobs by air. As I understand it, he had a nice little Cessna 350. He could get to the base in a little over an hour of flight time; that's no worse than many commutes and less of a hassle."

"I see, thank you."

A few minutes later, he was being greeted at the first door he knocked on by a man in baggy shorts and t-shirt with a day's growth of beard. He declared his name to be Soza. Leaning against the door jam and holding the door close to his body, he listened without expression as Horatio explained his mission. A moment later, he turned his head and shouted, "Hey, guess what? Beeks is dead. We got a cop here askin' if we seen last night."

A distant female voice replied, "What time?"

"Late, maybe midnight or so," the man relayed.

"Wasn't that when the storm started?"

Horatio tired of a translation and asked to talk to the man's wife at the same time. Apparently this broke the line of communication. When the thin woman with uncombed dark hair appeared, the only other thing either had to reveal was that the last that Soza had seen of Beeks was in the evening in another neighbor's garage where they practiced mixed martial arts as they had done on Thursdays for well over two years.

Asking who else was involved and only being directed to another house nearby, Horatio thanked the couple and moved on to Zambreckski's house which was two down on the other side of the Beeks home. Walking in the warming morning, Horatio considered that there was something in Soza's reaction when told of Beeks' death that said there was no great sorrow at the news. It might be nothing but he would remember to ask further questions later.

"Found the body down the canal?" The thickly set nearly bald man asked jovially. He lifted his head to indicate the area in back of his home. "And Jaime told you to come to me? He would. He expects me to be the town crier all the time like he doesn't have a mouth on him. Okay, yeah, we all get together on Thursdays along with three others and Beeks' son. It's half practice and half bull session. It's just a way to get out and away from the women. I have the garage set up as a kind of training center. I learned mine as a SEAL when I was in San Diego. I don't get too formal with these guys though. So, you say Beeks got killed? Any idea how?"

"We're not at liberty to say right now. We're in the process of investigation."

"Well, investigate away. I'll tell you one thing. Nobody thought much of that bastard."

"How so?"

"He thought the world owed him a living because he was a Navy officer. I used to tell him he was a special program flyboy not an Annapolis grad but that just pissed him off. I learned to keep off the subject. I heard that when he went out on any evening occasion he'd go without reservations and expect top drawer service just because he flashed his Navy I.D. Now, remember, this guy never saw a desert much less Iran or Afghanistan so why he thought he deserved so much I don't know."

"Did he ever talk about what his job was?"

"As far as I could figure, he just carried cargo in helos out to flat tops and back. Maybe there was more, I don't know. I just know he never saw action."

"Do you think anyone held that against him?"

"If they did, I didn't hear it. I mean, we all thought he was a son-of-a-bitch for his attitude and he sure couldn't hold his liquor worth a damn, not even beer. Soza had to direct him home most Thursday nights after we were done. Still, I don't think anyone thought he was worth the time or effort to kill."

"Where do the other three men live?"

Zambreckski scratched the back of his head. "I think one lives over in Little Havana and one by Miami Shores. The other, I'm just not sure. I do have their phone numbers though."

A moment later, the man came back to the door and read off the names and the numbers for Horatio to copy. Phone still in his hand while thanking the big man for his cooperation, it rang. He quickly excused himself and walked to the Beeks' home.

Commander Parra was waiting at the front door. "She is in a delicate state, as you can imagine. I'll introduce you."

"Good, thank you."

The living room though filled with light seemed somber with the woman lying stretched out on the overstuffed couch. A young man, perhaps sixteen or so sat on a chair by her head. The two of them wrung their hands, mirroring each other's movements.

"Ms. Beeks, Junior, this is Lieutenant Caine. He is the police officer that wants to ask you questions."

"What? Why?" The pale figure asked faintly.

"Momma, remember, Commander Parra told us already? They think Dad was killed by somebody."

The blond woman with short cut hair raised her fleshy hand to cover her eyes as she snarled a sob.

"Officer, can't this wait to tomorrow? My mom is really taking this hard."

"I wish I could son, but time is of the essence."

A voice came from another room. "Hey Shirl, are you going to need this turkey carving set? I mean with Michael not going to carve anymore and all…"

Her face suddenly tearless and her voice strong, Shirley Beeks called out, "I don't guess so Mama. You can also start packing up the formal dinnerware. That is, if you want it."

"Want it? Hell yes we'd love it. Come on Judy let's get to clearing out the pantry."

Making his way to the front door with Captain Whitehead, Commander Parra said uncertainly, "We have to leave now Ms. Beeks. Please give us a call later. Use these numbers when you need anything." He laid a pamphlet on a table by the front door.

Her voice suddenly weak again, Ms. Beeks whispered, "Oh, thank you. You have been so nice about this. I just don't know what my family or I will do without him now."

"We'll find our way out, ma'am. You take care."

The officers walked out and closed the door gently behind them. A moment later, the black escalade outside roared into life and there was a slight squeak of tires as they sped off to their orderly military life.

Taking a chair from the dining room, Horatio sat down so he could face the grieving widow. "First, I offer you my sincerest condolences on your loss."

"Thank you." The woman looked at him for the first time and then gave him another quick look. Then, hand replaced over her eyes, she sighed and whimpered, "Oh my poor dear Michael."

"Unfortunately, I have to ask some important questions. We believe his death was a homicide. I am a criminalist and we already have some evidence to this effect but nothing to indicate who or why."

"Well, I sure don't know," the woman answered with a slight petulance in her voice.

"Was there anyone who held a grudge against him?"

"Everyone thought my Michael was a wonderful man. They admired and respected him, even envied him his success."

"Envied?"

"Well, except for that Jaime Soza two doors down. He acts like being a Navy officer is nothing. Once, we invited him and his wife out for dinner at a really nice place. Well, the place almost wouldn't seat us even though Michael showed his military I.D. Can you imagine? They said we had to have reservations. Michael had to raise his voice and suddenly they found a table. Jaime kept making silly remarks about how easy it would have been to pick up a phone to call ahead. Michael put him in his place when he reminded him that the country owes a great deal to the men in service to their country."

"He hasn't really let Dad forget about it either," Junior put in. "Almost every Thursday, he makes some stupid comment, wondering why Dad isn't practicing in his khakis or even his dress whites or something."

The woman hid her face again grasping at the handkerchief Horatio offered. "What am I going to do? I'm too young to be a widow."

"Ma'am, just a few more questions and I will leave you alone for the moment."

"Call me Shirley, please."

"Alright, Shirley, can you tell me why you lived here in Miami if your husband was stationed at the naval air station in Jacksonville three hundred and fifty miles north of here?"

"My family lives here in Miami. We're very close. So when Michael could afford a plane, he said we could live here."

Junior spoke in a tone used when chiding a child, "Mom, his business was here too.

"Did he come home every day?"

"No, he'd come on Thursday afternoon."

Junior added, "That was so he could practice with us all at Mr. Zambreckski's house. Then, to make up for it, he'd fly back on Saturday evening unless I had a MMA competition. Then he took off early Sunday morning."

They were interrupted by an elderly man. "Hey Junior, your dad ever have a cart or anything? I'm getting tired toting heavy boxes of tools into the truck."

"Yeah, but can't it wait Grampa? I'm kind'a busy here."

"We only can afford the truck for a day. We still have to unload all the stuff at our place before the rental place closes at six tonight. Now get a move on."

Obviously the boy was of mixed thoughts and didn't know how to make a solid decision in a case like this.

Horatio rose and, smiling, advanced on the older gentleman. "My name is Lieutenant Horatio Caine." He flashed his badge and I.D. card.

The man's grizzled chin went back a couple of inches as his brows scrunched over his nose. He stuck out his hand in a manner that spoke more of manners than friendliness. "Pete Waverly, Shirley's father."

Ignoring the grimy proffered hand, he said, "I have some business with your daughter and I think Michael Junior would be a great deal of help. It will take a few minutes. As soon as I'm finished, I'll send him out to help you."

"Well, I don't know. I kind of wanted to get this done. Michael had some great stuff and I'm afraid someone else might try to get their hands on it if I don't get it out of here double quick."

Horatio leaned forward quickly and whispered into Pete's ear, "I'll send him out when I'm done." He ground out the last word before pulling back with his face set hard.

His chin working back as forth as teeth ground, the elder man walked hurriedly to the kitchen with his shoulders raised high and his elbows flinging to the back with every step. Horatio couldn't hear the words in the other room, but from the tone and the cadence, he guessed he was being thoroughly cussed out to the man's wife and second daughter. That had not been the first time to happen.

Returning to the living room, the tableau was nearly the same as when he had first entered. The only change was that Shirley was holding the handkerchief to her face, lightly so she could breathe, with one hand extended so her son could hold it while he murmured reassurances.

Taking a seat again, Horatio composed himself. "Where did your husband live when he was at work at Jacksonville?"

Shirley jiggled her hand and Junior automatically spoke for her. "He lived in the bachelor's barracks on the base. He said it was so bad to live there it made him want to get home as soon as he could."

"What kind of aircraft did Lieutenant-Commander Beeks fly on duty?"

Junior's face was filled with pride as he said, "The Sea Hawk."

Seeing an inquiring look on Horatio's face, the dark haired teen continued, "That's a monster helicopter that's used in all kinds of operations from carrying heavy cargo to doing sea rescues."

"Shirley, do you socialize at all with the officers or wives in the squadron?"

Removing the cloth from her face and searching the ceiling for the meaning of the words, she finally replied, "Oh, no. My family is the most important thing in the world to me. I mean, those people would be gone out of our lives when he is…would be transferred." Another whimper and the handkerchief was put over her face again.

Horatio persevered through the barrier. "Besides meeting with his friends at Mr. Zambreckski's home for martial arts practice, did your husband socialize with anyone while here at home? Did he go out at night?"

The handkerchief revealed a slight frown on the round face. "He didn't go out to bars if that's what you are insinuating."

Horatio waited for the rest of it.

She pushed herself up to a seated position and opened her arms to motion her son beside her. Once he was firmly in her grasp, she turned her gray blue eyes to the CSI and said firmly. "Aside from his Navy work the only other thing he did was deal with his father's business. He inherited it and had to run it all by himself. He has managers but he always felt responsible. I mean, after all, how could he keep a family of seven going on Navy pay?"

"Excuse me? A family of seven did you say?"

"Me and Junior, my two sisters and my father and my mother."

Horatio had no idea what to say to that so he inquired, "What business was this?"

"Import and Export."

"And the name?"

"Beeks and Son, Limited."

"I see. Thank you for talking with me. I will probably have to talk to you again."

"What about?" Shirley's voice took on a shrill edge.

"I don't know yet but further questioning is almost inevitable in a murder case."

Spreading her legs wide to give her body a good base to stand upon, Shirley heaved herself up. "Well, I hope you can do your job without putting me through too much more than you have. This was really hard on me."

Horatio stood and said, "I understand ma'am. We're trying to get as much information as possible so we can find the person who killed your husband."

Her face went blank again and then she slowly sorted out the information. "Oh, okay…I guess."

Junior, still on the settee, gave Horatio a quick, almost adult nod of reassurance.

Turning, Horatio caught sight of two figures, Shirley's parents, standing at the doorway to the kitchen.

As if his look had motioned them to come forward, they walked to the living room. Shirley snuggled into her mother's open arms. Without a glance to Horatio, Peter nodded his head sideways to Junior and said, "C'mon boy. We got some toting to do."

As much as Horatio wanted to caution making decisions about anything too early, he remained silent. Running other people's lives wasn't his job except when it became necessary.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Good find on that gun yesterday."

Ryan's hazel green eyes widened more than usual. "Uh, thanks."

"No, really, I mean it." Eric tried to give the new guy as reassuring a look as he could. Calleigh had heard Eric giving Ryan a hard time when they first returned to the lab the previous afternoon and she had given him a proper reaming out. He had to agree with her. Both knew no one could replace Speed but that was no reason to give the new guy a hard time.

"You think Calleigh will be able to get anything from it?"

"If anyone can, the gun girl can. She's the best."

"Gun girl? Is that what they call her?"

Delko guided the hummer into the school parking lot. "Only the jealous ones don't."

After passing through the high school's security system, showing their badges and that their guns were securely strapped into their holsters, the two CSI detectives made their way to the principal's office. By the time they arrived at the door, Eric was lagging back a few steps.

"Delko? What's up? You look nervous."

"Just old memories I guess."

"Were you a troublemaker at school?"

"Not really. I just had a…," he paused with a grin. "I guess you'd call it a sense of humor that sometimes got away from me. Mostly it was in gym class."

"You weren't a bully were you?"

"No way. I'd just do things like get the other big guys in scrimmage mad by saying I saw their sisters making eyes at some smart guy that they knew they couldn't touch. Or sometimes, in the rope climbing, I'd shake the rope a little and slow the quicker guys down. If the coach caught me, I'd have to go talk to the principal. Believe me, Sister Euphemia had a way of talking that had me with my tail between my legs for days."

"Well, come on, I went to a Baptist school so I'll protect you."

Ryan could feel the two dark eyes drilling holes into the back of his neck as they walked to the reception desk and announced their mission.

While waiting, they received two different kinds of stares from students who came and went. One was openly curious and speculative. The other type was one of suspicion and fear. The two kept their eyes lowered, not acknowledging either kind of look.

"Hey, did your high school look like this one?" Delko kept his voice low.

"Almost the same, just not as many kids."

"How can schools be the same in states eighteen hundred miles apart?"

"Once I visited a cousin out in Los Angeles and his school was nearly the same. There were a more outdoor lockers but that's all."

The principal came to the door and motioned the two to enter, not giving recognition to any others who had been waiting before the two CSIs arrival.

Closing the door the five and a half foot tall man put out his hand. "Gentlemen, I'm Principal Boris Gatsby. Have a seat. How can I help you?" The light skinned black man walked around to behind his desk and took a seat. His tired eyes shined darkly behind the steel rimmed glasses.

Sitting in the heavy oak wood chair, Delko spoke first. "I imagine you've heard the news about Deeshawn Cook?"

Gatsby's forehead wrinkled as he nodded. His balding dome gleamed and dimmed under the fluorescent lights with each movement. "I did indeed. The school observed a moment of silence for him this morning. What a terrible shame. He had such promise."

"We came to ask about what you might know about his social activities, his friends."

"Hmm, ah, yes, well, let me see. I'm afraid I generally don't know too much about the social lives of the kids that are never in trouble. In today's world my work is trying to convince the ones that cause grief to find another outlet." Gatsby shrank back into his chair. "Oh, I know, let me pull up his records. That will tell us something." He turned to the computer on his desk and typed at the keyboard for a moment. After a moment of examining the screen, scrolling down a few times, nodding to himself, he finally said, "Ah, yes, he belonged to the school's math club. That is overseen by the head of our math department, Ms. Huerta. She should be able to tell you about his relationships there."

"Did he belong to any other clubs or associations?"

After another glance at the screen he said, "Um, well, ah, yes he did belong to the National Honor Society but our school doesn't have an active chapter." At that moment, the distant sound of the class change bell could be heard echoing down the halls. "Maybe Ms. Huerta will be able to answer more questions. You'll have to excuse me gentlemen. I have to help with the herd." He smiled apologetically. "I think Ms. Huerta has this next period free." He directed the two to the teacher's lounge.

After walking the melee of the crowded halls, students going in all directions, talking on cell phones or each other, laughing, opening and closing lockers, the quiet of the teacher's lounge was a shock.

A woman sitting at a desk in the far corner looked up and smiled. "After a while, you don't notice the difference between there and here so much as being thankful for it."

"Ms. Huerta?" Seeing her nod, Delko introduced himself and Ryan.

"About Deeshawn, I'm guessing. How can that happen? We drill the kids all day about being supportive and caring, they nod like little bobble head dolls and, then this. I'd like to just put them all in their lockers and not let them out until they're about forty-five or so."

The voice coming out of the face with a topknot of hair reminded them both of past teachers they had had in years past.

The woman looked at the patient faces, seeing they were waiting for her to wind down. "Oh, I'm sorry. Too long a teacher I guess. How I can help you?" Her appearance softened and ten years dropped away.

Before Delko could even finish his explanation, she opened the lap top on the desk and started typing. A moment later, she was giving the two the names of the math club members. "Of those, Deeshawn's friends were Bittor Boll, Melvin Hsu, and Winton Dan. The other two boys in the club were older and didn't seem supportive. But then, I didn't know what happened outside of the club activity. And then there was Letitia. She was, well, she was hurt by every word ever spoken or thought, poor dear."

"Would you say the ones not in Deeshawn's group felt left out?"

"No, I don't think so. The other two boys had their own friends and were bigger in stature. Letitia, well, smart as she was she just couldn't adjust socially. So many of the academically adept are that way. I don't think I ever saw her in any group outside of the club. I don't even know where she ate lunch. It's one of the pains of the teen years. Thank goodness, most grow out of it."

"And were they all equally good in math?"

"Deeshawn and Letitia were neck and neck in understanding mathematical concepts. Either one could figure out equations they had never seen before with lightning speed. The rest, well, the process just took longer but they enjoyed doing it. Belonging to a club doesn't mean you're good at the subject."

"Were they all friends?"

"About as friendly as high school kids can be at this age. Remember, they have hormones so friendship is a love or hate relationship and that changes from moment to moment."

"Is there any way to talk to these kids?"

An hour later, the first of the math club members sat facing them from across a long table.

"Yeah," said Rick Taylor, "Deeshawn was a good guy. He was smarter than all of us in math. Can I go now? I have football practice in a few minutes."

Bittor Delvallo showed a bit of resentment in that Deeshawn spent more time helping his personal friends than him. Aside from that, he admitted that Deeshawn was smart and friendly.

Letitia could barely mumble through the shoulder length hair than nearly covered her face. Deeshawn was alright she guessed; she didn't know. They never talked about what they knew in math. Her feet constantly shifted beneath the long dark skirt but her hands, stuffed into the wide sleeves of her blouse were still.

Two hours later they faced Melvin Hsu. His oval face was nearly overwhelmed by round oversized plastic rimmed glasses. "For once I'm glad my parents taught me Taoism. I shall seek the way to find peace after this upsetting event."

To their next question he answered, "Except for our common joy in discussing mathematical concepts, I knew almost nothing of his life. Perhaps that is a fault I shall have to examine. For now, I have no answers as to why anyone would kill him."

When Melvin left the room, the two men looked at each other in stunned disbelief.

"I thought he was going to disappear in a blue mist, not walk out the door."

Eric shook his head in equal disbelief. "Or at least lapse into Yoda talk."

After the nervous dark retirement of Letitia and the measured calm of Melvin, Tad was a breath of fresh air. His smile was quick though with a hint of sadness. His curly brown hair had recently been cut making his pimpled chubby cheeks seem slightly more prominent than they might have been with more hair. "I don't know if I was his 'best' friend but we were pretty tight. Mostly the four of us would hang out in his room, mostly playing games. That was until his Dad got killed. That was sure a bummer. Mr. Cook was really a good guy. He'd barbecue hot dogs for us and talk about his time fighting in Desert Storm and all."

"How about the other kids in the club?"

Tad shrugged his shoulders. "They were alright, I guess. We just weren't in their league outside of the club. They were more like the cool kids and all. They talked good math but mostly didn't get it."

"And the girl, Letitia? Was she a cool kid?"

"Her? No way! I don't know what her case was but for sure she wasn't cool. Her only point was that the only one she couldn't beat in math was Deeshawn. She'd spin latinum rings around the rest of us."

"How did Deeshawn feel about that; did he say?"

"He admired the way she could reason through a problem. He'd always say, 'It's different, that's for sure.'"

Bell after bell heralded class changes which were signaled by the thundering shuffle of feet. When the last bell sounded and their last interviewee, the chubby Winton Dan looked at them with pleading eyes, they stood and let him go.

"Know anything more than we did this morning?" asked Delko.

"How much high school has changed in seventeen years. My math club was all about the advisor handing us a sheet of problems to solve in a set amount of time. Discussing mathematical concepts? Whew!"

"Were you as strange as Melvin or Letitia?"

Wolfe smiled nervously. "What, me? No. We were just would-be CSIs is all."

Delko clapped a hand onto Wolfe's shoulder. "Don't worry, I won't tell. Now let's go find Ms. Huerta. I want to ask her some more questions."

The found her in the lounge, at the same table, looking a little more worn than when they had talked to her in mid-morning.

"We talked with the kids during the day. Now I'd like to get your take on how they interacted. From what they said, there was no animosity but I kind of got the idea there was some sort of competition between Deeshawn and Letitia."

"For Deeshawn, being better at math was a given, had been all of his life. To meet someone and a girl no less who was as good or even better in some respects kind of hurt his pride I think. He took it all in stride though, trying to learn what she knew. Letitia on the other hand had something driving her to be the winner in math. She seemed to feel crushed when she couldn't solve a problem as quickly as Deeshawn. When someone else bested her she'd nearly cry. The boys just didn't know how to handle that so they distanced themselves from her. I don't know if she even noticed, she was so removed in her own way."

"I can see you really cared about these kids, got involved with them so this is perhaps a difficult question, "Do you think any of them took the rivalry seriously enough to kill Deeshawn?"

Ms. Huerta tried to shake her head and didn't seem to be able to. "They took everything so very intensely. Every test was a life or death struggle, their whole future at stake. As often as not, competitions were team efforts with one or two leading them all to success. There was one competition coming up though that is like that for them. The difference being that of all the teams, the student that scores the most points goes up against the other winners in the other teams until only one is left. There is prize money to be held in trust to pay for any college of their choice. It is invested and, depending on how well the investment goes, it could pay for tuition and books for up to two years. We had high hopes for Deeshawn. But would any of these kids kill for the chance to go to college? I'd like to say no."

Ryan raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That's a hefty sum. Then, while going to school, you could work and save enough for the next two years."

"I'm not sure I can get these kids back on track now. Math, even at this level takes so much concentration."

# # #

An hour later, they were discussing the day's discoveries with Horatio.

"And there was a competition coming up?"

"Ms. Huerta said kids take all tests as serious as a heart attack. Something like this would sure have put competitors in overdrive."

"Where was the competition taking place?"

"In the Miami Convention Center. It started three months ago as a statewide competition all over Florida with all of the schools in local games. Now it's been winnowed down to five teams. The other teams are located nowhere near Miami."

"So, even though a team win would have been points for their school, one kid would still walk away with all of the prize money."

Ryan looked up at his boss and nodded. "That's about it. Are you thinking one of the math club members did this?"

Horatio resolutely set his face. "Right now, I'm not thinking anything. I'm suggesting we wait to see where the evidence leads us."

"So, H, what's our next move?"

"How about paying a visit to the kids' homes and taking prints? Calleigh has a partial palm print on the butt and a partial finger on the trigger. Let's see what we can get from that. It will also give us a chance to meet the parents."

"Are we hoping for a gun collection with one spot empty?" Ryan was half joking.

Horatio took a step back and a bow to the truth, "Stranger things have happened Mr. Wolfe.

"Give all of the club members' parents a call and set up as many appointments as possible. Should anyone try to put you off, get search warrants." His voice carried his hope that the action wouldn't be necessary.

Horatio turned to go to his loft office when Calleigh came striding down the hall.

"Horatio, I talked with Ms. Lorento this morning. Well, her and the family. It was pretty hard to get a straight answer from her. Different members of the family kept adding and correcting with their own impressions."

"Family can do that, can't they?"

"I did get to spend a few minutes with the daughter. She thought that Deeshawn was bullied like all smart kids but it was more like teasing, not physical abuse. Part of that was that he was pretty tight with the three friends. He also had some street smarts, knew how to avoid any tormenters."

"Did anyone else besides his friends know where he had moved after his father's death?"

"I guess we'll have to find that out.

"Oh, by the way, Alexx and I came up with a working theory about the shooter's height."

He turned so that he his shoulder was in line with Calleigh's shoulder with a slight smile. "Do tell."

"First, I have to tell you that when I went into the morgue I nearly had a heart attack. No one mentioned how Beeks resembled Speed."

Horatio turned to face Calleigh with a look of concern. "I thought you had seen him at the canal. I am so sorry."

"You couldn't have known." She shrugged. "I'll recover. Does Eric know?"

"Let's make sure he knows before he has reason to go talk to Alexx."

"So right. Anyway, Alexx and I were able to note the angle of the path the bullet took through the glass. Figuring the angle of the bullet's entry into the body and marking it through from where he was standing and then noting the angle of the path through the glass all the way out to the street, if it was a drive-by the shooter was laying down on a skateboard. Considering the unlikelihood of that and calculating the next place the shooting might have taken place which was the sidewalk, then the shooter was between five feet and five foot six depending on how the gun was held."

"So, that covers anyone between the ages of thirteen and ninety in Miami. That gives us perhaps a quarter of the population that might be inclined to shoot someone at any given time." He cocked his head towards his right shoulder and bounced his eyebrows.

Calleigh smiled brightly. "Meaning we have eliminated a little over one three quarters of the entire population if you consider that some people are extremely tall or extremely short for their age and more or less likely to be violent."

"If what Eric and Ryan have discovered holds true, our odds might be even better." He went on to explain what he knew of the math club.

"I can hardly wait to get those prints. I don't know Horatio; it seems like anyone with math smarts would figure out that shooting someone, especially during the day doesn't add up to be very good odds. But, I guess stranger things have happened."

"Indeed they have as we both well know."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Early the next morning, Calleigh and Ryan stepped down from the interior of the hummer. The ever present puffy clouds above reflected the unbelievably bright sunlight from their tops and yet many showed rain mist from dark undersides. Those were the source of the 'sun' showers so famous in Miami where rain fell on one block and the orb of Helios lit another. Both CSIs looked up at the large billboard over bays where two trucks were parked. Printed in a font that could have been used on the sign on the warehouse in Dickens' Christmas Carol, only larger and in blue, it read Beeks and Son, Ltd. It was located at the end of an alley among an array of other warehouses. Both knew that, in back, another roadway led to piers a few blocks away where carts and small trucks brought goods to and from ships docked there.

"Mr. Hubbell said to go in through the big doors and turn right."

"Does he know why we're coming, Ryan?"

"Yeah, I told him. He sounded pretty upset about Beeks' death."

The two headed to the stairs that took them to the level that allowed direct loading into the trucks from the warehouse floor. They hugged the edge of the massive doors to stay out of the way of the men pushing dollies across the entrance. After letting their eyes adjust to the shaded interior for a moment, they spotted the corrugated metal enclosed office tucked into the corner. The lit office was revealed through the louvered window and the small window in the closed door.

Opening the door, they were greeted by a pleasant breath of air conditioned air after the heat of the open ended warehouse where no breeze was felt. There were two small desks, one by the door and the other in the opposite corner. Both were just large enough to hold laptop computers and some papers. A woman of middle age sat at the desk by the door. Before she could speak, the man with gray hair rose from his desk in the corner extending his hand. At the same time, he turned his head to the woman. "Molly, these are the people I told you were coming."

The woman nodded gravely showing only a glimmer of a smile then turned to her computer.

The man turned to Ryan and Calleigh and shook their hands briefly. "I can't tell you how upset I am about this. Mikey ran this place as well as his father did."

Calleigh blinked with an uncertain smile. "You called him Mikey?"

"Sure, we all did. His father was Michael Beeks the first. The story is that Mikey hung around warehouse all the time from the time he was twelve, before I was hired. He learned the business from the bottom up."

"How did he manage to run this place and maintain a position as an officer in the Navy?" asked Ryan.

"Besides me, there are three others who act as managers. When Mikey isn't available, we all get to together and make decisions. Mikey almost never has had a problem with what we've done. He has always been pretty clear on the 'what to do if' angles."

"But you're head manager."

"Well, I'm Manager in Charge of Management I guess you'd say. I'd tell the other managers what Mikey wanted in terms of distribution of work."

"What has the longest stretch of time been where you were in charge?" Ryan noticed that Molly made no pretense of not listening in.

"Never more than a few days. I mean, even when Mikey was stationed in Seattle, we generally kept in touch by phone and computer. I'd send him paperwork through email if we needed a signature. The rest was through our database. Back in the day Michael senior hardly ever left this office." He turned to the secretary. "Did he Molly?"

The well-coiffed woman's large ear rings shook as she twisted her head back and forth with a faraway look in her eyes.

"Now, if I have to, even I can manage this place from a beach in Bimini. I have on occasion too. Mostly though, I stay here. I'm just old fashioned I guess."

"Did Mr. Beeks ever say what would happen to the company on his demise?" Ryan desisted from bringing out a notebook as he had done in his days of being a uniformed officer. If the others on the team could remember information from an interview without making notes he would too.

"If he ever made any plans he never told me. I guess it's supposed to go to Junior, his son. That's Michael III but still, they called him Junior. Maybe his mother is supposed to take care of things until the kid is old enough."

"And until you know?"

"Until somebody tells me different, I'm going to show up and manage this place, just like my job description says."

Calleigh had been looking around casually as if only partly listening to what was being said. Suddenly she broke in and asked, "What do you import?"

"We get everything from crockery from Asia to wood from South America. We export feathers and hats, stuff like that."

Displaying her most southerly charming smile, Calleigh held out her hand and thanked Mr. Hubbell for his time and assured him that if they needed any more information, they would call on him again.

Outside of the building, they conferred on impressions.

"I don't know Calleigh. I've heard of multitasking but Navy Officer and owner of an import and export business of this size? That seems a bit much."

The two climbed into the hummer. They both held their doors open a moment while the air conditioner kicked in and started blowing out the oven like heat. Once that was done, Calleigh turned off the air and both rolled down their windows.

"As far as I know, there are no laws against it as long as the work doesn't interfere with their military duties or run counter to their pledge to uphold the constitution of the United States. It does sound like he had it all pretty well controlled with being in constant contact and managers handling what he couldn't." She started the engine.

"And there's no motive on the managers' parts. Now that Beeks is dead, they don't know what's going to happen." Ryan inhaled the moving air coming through the windows. One thing about Florida air is that, once it is moving, it feels great. "Unless Hubbell wasn't giving us the whole picture."

"Also, did you notice the secretary's look when we were talking about Beeks?" Calleigh asked.

"You mean that misty look that only middle aged women get when thinking about a past love life? Yeah, I sure did."

Calleigh giggled. "Watch it Ryan. I'm too close to middle age to want to think about what I'd look like moping over a love that might have been. Anyway, as far as Hubbell is concerned, we'll just have to wait and see on that score.

"Meanwhile, we hope that Deeshawn's aunt is a little more recovered. Horatio wants us to find out if anyone was aware of his new address."

# # #

The two CSIs found Maven Lorento much more composed than they heard she had been. Still prone to a few tears now and then, she was able to answer their questions.

To their inquiry about how many people were aware of Deeshawn's address she first looked down at her hands in her lap. She was wearing tight jeans giving her legs the appearance of sausages in blue casings. Her sweater blouse, on the other hand was flattering, not too tight or saggy loose, in a golden orange that highlighted her skin tone. The large orange sequins that caught the light gave a rippling effect to the whole piece as she breathed. "Well, now, let me think on that a minute. Mostly all I saw were the three friends from the math club. Oh, then a couple of times the other members, two boys who were bigger and then that skinny, pale girl came. That's when they were advancing to the higher levels of that tournament." She paused and flashed a lovely smile in a nervous fashion and stared at her hands again. They were clasped tightly, fighting to dive for cover between her thighs. "I don't think there was anyone else but I can't be sure. I mean, someone else from the school might live around here and seen him coming home. No one else came into the house, that's for sure."

"Could he have brought anyone in when you weren't home?"

She pulled her head back and frowned. "Only if he did it when he was supposed to be in school." Then she shook her head. "My husband, when he was alive, worked as a janitor at high schools. My, the tales he brought home of what kids try to get away with was enough turn kinky hair straight. When he was alive, I worked too and we had it so one of us was always at home when Teshonda was home from school. When he passed, I went on welfare just so I could take care of her. She's a good girl but I wasn't going to take any chances."

"And I don't imagine Deeshawn showed any inclination to go against the rules of the house?"

Again that disbelieving shake of the head. "Oh, I know Teshonda talks about being sorrowful right now. No doubt she is too. When Deeshawn was alive though, they mixed it up a few times. Teshonda admired his smarts but figured she was older and knew better. If she had seen him bring someone into the house when I was out back or taking a shower, she would have been more than pleased to tattle and he knew it. He just never did and I don't think he would have anyway." She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

Ryan didn't catch it but Calleigh could see the cloth was one of the dozens Horatio bought to hand out to weeping victims. This one had obviously been carefully laundered and ironed for more use. No doubt, after a few uses again, it would be washed, perhaps by hand, and ironed again.

As if reading Calleigh's mind, Maven looked up at the blond woman beside her. "Is Lieutenant Caine going to need information from me?"

Smiling sympathetically, Calleigh answered, "We will tell him what you said, don't worry."

Maven blinked her luminous dark eyes. "I see."

# # #

An hour later, Calleigh and Ryan reported their morning's findings to Horatio.

"Apparently only the members of the club knew he had moved."

"One thing bothered me, Horatio."

"What is that Mr. Wolfe?"

"Teshonda Lorento had some dustups with Deeshawn. Her mother said she would have tattled on any rule-breaking in a heartbeat. My sisters and I threatened each other, gave each other grief, but we would never have told on each other. Maybe there wasn't a bond of siblings there but they were cousins which could be nearly as close. I would want to follow up on it."

"Very interesting. Thank you Mr. Wolfe.

"And what goods does Beeks and Son, Limited import and export?"

He had written some notes in the ride back. He couldn't help it. Referring to them he said, "Just about everything from cheap dishware, meat, wood, and tobacco coming in to feathers, prepared food, and head gear going out."

Horatio raised his chin and scanned brightly lit lab ceiling. "Dishware can come from Asia, if I'm not mistaken."

Calleigh and Ryan raised their eyebrows at each other; they never knew where their boss was heading with a thought.

"Calleigh, return to the warehouse tomorrow with Eric please and get tracking routes for all of their most common imports. I want to know where it goes from the warehouse."

"What will be a red flag?"

"I think you'll know it when you see it."

"And until tomorrow?"

"This evening I want all of you and Frank Tripp to go to the homes of the kids that weren't in Deeshawn's circle of friends and talk to the parents. Mr. Wolfe, did you get any refusals?"

"Oh, I sure did. Mr. Odobescu talked about his rights as a homeowner. From his accent I'm not sure he knows what his rights are." Ryan's rye expression added emphasis to his statement.

From the looks on Horatio's and Calleigh's faces, he judged he had put his foot into his mouth again. "I mean, he might be so new into this country, he hasn't had time to understand his rights."

"And Letitia, does she also have a heavy accent?" Calleigh smiled innocently.

"Well, no, she doesn't have…a…trace…" He looked around nervously. "I think I have a test running that I have to go see about." He turned and bolted to his section of the lab.

Calleigh grinned as she looked up at Horatio's furrowed face. "Don't worry, I won't let him off the leash until he's completely house trained."

Flashing a rare smile and staring directly into the blue-green eyes, he said, "Most of us needed trainers in our younger days."

Switching thoughts he continued, "Eric and I will take on Mr. Odobescu. You take Ryan to Rick Taylor's home and Frank can take a uni to talk to Rick Taylor."

"Sounds like a plan. If we run into any trouble I'll call."

"Please do."

"I guess I better go chuck Ryan under his chin or rub his ears to make him feel better. Did I need so much scratching and pets when I was new?"

"No Calleigh, you didn't but then you were a special case."

"Aw shucks, you always say the nicest things."

"Go take care of Ryan. Keep in touch please."

# # #

"When Ryan and I were talking with Letitia, she just seemed shy."

"Which is often the case with abused children, Eric. From what you say Ms. Huerta told you, even if she isn't physically abused, it might be emotional."

"You mean like being told you're a dummy over and over?" Eric sneered at the idea.

"When done over a period of years, those words alone can have a devastating effect on a person. When added to different variations and then told you don't have the power to escape, you become a slave."

"Without a chain or cuff in sight."

"Let's hope she's just a shy brilliant child with a low opinion of herself as most teens do."

"I did a quick background check on her father. Came to the states from Moldova five years ago but Letitia has been here since she was three, living with a cousin. Dad is clean. Works as an auto mechanic.

Their first encounter with Letitia's father was not promising. Speaking with a heavy accent he growled through the door, "Go away. I don't have to talk to you."

Using what he hoped was a reasonable tone of voice in spite of an urge to simply rush the door, Horatio said, "True, you don't have to talk to us without the presence of a lawyer but we have a search warrant and you do have to let us in to search your home."

Then both the men could hear a child's voice, sounding surprisingly adult, say, "Papa, let them in. You are behaving irrationally."

"Go to your room you bad child. What will they think of me as a parent to hear you speak so to your Papa."

"Papa, please, let's just open the door and find out what they want. They can't do anything to you because you didn't do anything."

After a moment, the door opened and the pale face peered out. Behind her was a man with a walrus mustache, heavy brow ridges over eyes that had many sad tales to tell. "Hi Mr. Delko, I thought I recognized your voice."

"Hi Letitia, can we come in?" He smiled his crookedly which seemed to always please the ladies no matter what age they were.

Again using that adult attitude that was so different from the mumbling unsure child he had seen the day before, she sighed. "Since I'm guessing that piece of paper in your pocket is the search warrant, I bet we don't have a choice, do we?"

Horatio bent his head to one side, fascinated with this pale face surrounded by straight black hair topped with short bangs. "You know what? I would rather your father allow us in by choice. We are investigating your friend's murder and to do so, we have to look for the source of the weapon used on him. This means starting with his family, then his friends and acquaintances in an every widening circle. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do. My father, however, believes a man's home is his castle. Let me talk to him for a few minutes. Can you wait here?" Her face was without expression yet open and innocent.

Not believing she was innocent for a second, Horatio lowered his voice and whispered, "Just don't leave the house."

Looking almost disappointed, Letitia spoke some words in her father's middle European tongue and they both walked to another room.

While waiting, both silently looked around the small living room where cheap replicas of triptychs showing the Mother and Child were staring glassily from their frames, greasy furniture hugged the walls and a large rug that was beyond worn covered bare wood floors.

"I guess Dad isn't much on keeping up with repairs." Delko observed under his breath.

"And perhaps Letitia had never been introduced to the niceties of housekeeping," Horatio continued the thought sadly

The odd couple returned and Mr. Odobescu put out a rough paw. "I am sorry gentlemen. Sometimes I forget manners. Letitia says you looking for what we don't have. So, look." He spread his arms open which didn't do much for the air quality in the stuffy room.

Horatio gave Delko the signal to check Mr. Odobescu's bedroom first. He knew the up and coming CSI would check under the bed, including under the bed itself, in the closet, including any loose floorboards, and under the bathroom sink and the toilet tank top for any gun taped to those places or any sign that one had been put there.

Letitia followed Delko and Mr. Odobescu followed Horatio, both at a respectful distance, saying not a word. It wasn't until after searching the living room and then the small kitchen with Delko that Horatio looked through the grimy window into the dark back yard and he suddenly found the father by his side examining his face. This caused him to ask, "What's out there, Mr. Odobescu?"

"Why you ask? Nothing but grass, trees, nothing." He turned to Letitia with a snarl. "You tell them Letitia."

"He's right, you know. It's just what he says, grass and trees with a broken brick wall around it. It's what we call our back yard." She almost smiled at her own sly jest.

Delko sat in a chair at a small table by the wall. It made wooden creaks under his weight so he positioned himself to be ready to spring forward if it decided to give away. "Letitia, you get that we have to be certain that we have looked everywhere that anyone could hide a gun even if we're pretty sure that there's no weapon?"

Suddenly looking like she was thirty rather than fourteen, Letitia paused. Her eyes moved as if she were counting objects of some sort or doing calculations in her head. It was easy to see she was weighing Delko's remarks, the pros and cons with what she understood to be truth. "I also get that we have certain inalienable rights." Her words were spoken with a flat finality of a founding father.

Delko shook his head and looked pleadingly up at Horatio. "She's right, isn't she?"

Horatio knew well he could search the back yard as part of the property. On the other hand, he didn't want to push the child's belief in a citizen's rights. Inclining his head forward he said, "I think so. We had probable cause to search the home but none, at the moment, to search the back yard. Thank you for your time Mr. Odobescu." He nodded at the father. "And Letitia, it was a pleasure to meet you." He advanced and took her smaller hand in his larger one and held it gently for a moment before letting go.

In the hummer he asked, "What do you think, Eric?"

"Maybe Pops has a buried treasure in the back yard?"

"So, no guns, you think?"

"I wasn't getting any feelings about it. How about you?"

"Not yet."

They drove away.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The next morning, Horatio called the team and Police Detective Frank Tripp into the layout room to discuss the findings of the night before.

Frank's voice clipped his words as he related that he and the uniformed officer had found a Nelson Family/Beaver Cleaver Family combined. "They were ungodly accommodating; running around opening closets, tossing clothes out onto the bed, clearing stuff from under the beds, moving rugs around. I wanted to cuff 'em just to stop them."

"You sound disappointed Frank. Would you have preferred having to strong arm them to open the front door?" Ryan quipped.

Frank glared at Ryan. "When people are as helpful as the Taylor's were I feel like they're directing my attention from where I should be looking. I spend twice as much time looking at places they open and then at other places as well."

"Knowing you Frank, you still looked at twice as many places as less experienced people would." Horatio assured him. Horatio hadn't known the six foot three officer for long but he was well aware of his experience.

Calleigh smiled broadly. "I think Ryan is just disappointed he and I came up empty handed as well. Bittor's family is second generation Basque. He lives with his parents, grandparents, two aunts and an uncle in a large home in Little Cuba. It took us nearly the entire evening to find all the nooks and crannies in the place."

"That was after we spent half an hour refusing offers of tea, coffee, cookies, plates of fruit, even dinner."

Frank shoved his chin at Ryan and grunted. "Live it up kiddo. You'll probably never again hand someone a search warrant and get such a warm reception."

Eric took Horatio's nod as permission to relate their experience with Letitia and her father.

"So we all came home empty handed?" asked Horatio.

Everyone nodded and started examining the floor. They knew what the next question was going to be.

"Any suggestion on our next step?"

Calleigh put on her investigator's face. "I think we have to find the source of the gun. Ballistics show it was never used in in a previous crime so we're cold on that angle. I think we should go back to Ms. Lorento and Teshonda to question if the family knew of any gun trading in their area."

Eric added, "And question Deeshawn's friends more on that angle. If anyone was a hater on him, they'd probably know. To a family's point of view, everyone loved and admired their poor dead relative. The friends were looking out for each other's backs, knew who was after their friend."

Pushing his jacket back and putting his hands on his hips, Horatio quietly said, "I'd like to know why Mr. Odobescu got so anxious when I looked out his kitchen window at the back yard."

Frank pinched his lips while his eyes riveted Horatio. "Do you have probable cause to look back there?"

Horatio raised his sky-blue eyes to meet the slightly gray green ones. "Not yet I don't, but there are ways to look without invading a citizen's property."

"When you find one of those magic doohickies, show it to me. One of those would save me a whole lot of time."

Horatio wrinkled his brows upward. "I'll let you know Frank. Meanwhile, Eric go with Ryan back to the school please. You already have a rapport with the principal. Interview the three friends and see what they can tell you about Letitia or other members. Anything would be helpful. Just remember that, at this age, kids think you have all the information and are trying to trip them up."

Eric nodded at Ryan and they both started to head out.

Calleigh chimed in, "Be straight with them, tell them you have no clue about what they did for fun or who was bothering them. They'll answer straight back at you."

"Calleigh, take Frank and follow up on the gun trading activity in Deeshawn's neighborhood. Start with Ms. Lorento and her daughter and spread out from there. Both of you be careful though. Don't hesitate to call us for backup."

Glancing up at Frank who towered a foot taller, Calleigh's hand fell automatically to the place where her gun would be if she were out on the street. It wasn't there since officers put their weapons in their personal lockers when in the building. Yes, she knew they would call for backup then while waiting for that to show up, if it came to it, they would take action. When dealing with people who had guns out on the streets, who dealt in them illegally, you had to be ready to meet them on their own terms whenever they chose to. You called for backup and took yourself out of direct line of fire and hoped to high heaven that would be enough. If not, then you drew and fired as need be. Using deadly force was no guarantee of a good outcome, only an improvement on the chances.

Horatio continued, "Calleigh, when you are done with this first assignment, I'd like you to go to the Beeks' warehouse and get a shipping list for the imports. I'm interested in the crockery in particular."

After the meeting broke up, Calleigh walked on one side of Horatio and Frank was on the other. "What are you going to be doing, Horatio?"

Horatio's eyebrows bobbed as he said, "I'm going to find us a doohickey."

The words stopped both the six foot three detective and the more diminutive CSI in their tracks. They looked at each other in amazement. It had been a while since Horatio had cracked a joke of any kind. They watched him walk down the hall to the elevator. By the time he had turned around to push the garage button, his face was composed and familiarly serious.

# # #

"Guns? My kids didn't know anything about guns!"

Calleigh smiled patiently at Ms. Lorento's anger. Most parents misunderstand this question and fly off at the handle almost immediately. "I'm sorry, I guess I misspoke, Ms. Lorento. I didn't mean to imply Deshawn wanted to get a gun. It's just that, if he knew someone who had guns, then maybe other kids would know the same kids. If one of those other kids were mad at Deeshawn it's likely they would find a gun through that means. Did Deeshawn ever talk about anyone like that?"

Ms. Lorento's dark skinned face maintained an angry scowl while her hands clutched at each other. "I told you, Deeshawn didn't know anything about any guns."

Calleigh's eyes flicked briefly at Teshonda.

The girl was more than happy to help her mother to understand. "Momma, the lady isn't saying Deeshawn had a gun just that he might know how the killer could get a gun around here. Am I right?"

"Yes, that's right, Teshonda. I'm sorry I didn't make myself clear."

The knotted brow didn't unfurl, the hands kept fighting. "Well I sure don't know anything about guns."

"No, of course you don't. We are probably on a wild goose chase but we have to ask. We know it's painful to have to talk about it, especially now. It's just that, if we can find how the shooter got the gun, we can find out who it was."

Ms. Lorento pulled out the handkerchief and daubed at the corners of her dry eyes. "Will you tell that nice Lieutenant Caine I will try to remember something?"

Frank averted his eyes, lowered his head and scratched at a non-existent itch at the back of his head. To his credit, he didn't let out an exasperated sigh.

Not missing a beat, Calleigh answered, "Of course we will. He'll appreciate that too."

Excusing themselves, saying goodbye, the two stood outside of Frank's car for a moment.

"Was that one of Horatio's five-for-a-dollar mop rags that lady was using?"

Calleigh let out a laugh. "I'm not sure they cost even that much. But yes. And from the looks of it, she laundered and ironed it again too. I'd say that's at least three times in two days. I'd say she has it bad for him."

"I guess I should be glad I don't have hair if that's what it would get me with every case."

"Just offer up your lapel for weeping and that would do just fine."

"At the cost of cleaning nowadays? I could buy a wig and have less problems."

Calleigh cocked her head to one side and squinted her eyes.

"What're you doing?"

"Imagining you with hair. You know what? Bald works for you."

Frank made a hissing sound before saying, "Let's go, we need to talk to some high school age miscreants that I know of."

"And you know these kids, how?"

"Well, a buddy of mine is a juvenile detention officer. I can call and ask him to look up what kids from this school have recently been arrested for gun possession. Then we go to the Miami-Dade Center and interview them."

# # #

What sounded like an easy plan was anything but. Because of the schedules the facility had to follow and the laws that protected children, they had to make about twenty calls, pass through a variety of doors in the building surrounded by two fences ten foot tall and five feet apart each with double thick concertina wiring on top. Then they still had to be interviewed by the center Director. In the end, about three o'clock, they had permission to talk to three kids, one at a time, over a period of forty-five minutes.

The room they used was painted in dull gunmetal gray. Even though it had high windows which let in plenty of the late afternoon light, the color of the clean walls made the room dreary as if it had spider's webs in the corners. The long table filled the center of the room and so there was barely enough room for the three folding metal chairs, two on one side and one on the other.

Sitting on the side closest to the door, Calleigh and Frank watched the parole officer escort the first young man into the room point to the chair opposite of them. The officer received a typical 'angry' look from his charge. After a moment, the young man sat and glared at his visitors, Calleigh first. Then he stuck his jaw out at Frank and looked dead-eyed into his face.

"You brought some eye candy, huh? Whatchuwan' fer it?"

"Show some respect to the lady, wise ass. This is CSI Duquesne and you're going to answer questions for us just because you're otherwise such a nice kid. You get me?"

"What if I don't want to?"

Frank rose to his feet and leaned forward. "I bet your parole office will have something to say about what you say or don't say in here." He sat back down. The chair creaked as the metal protested at his weight. He watched the teenager's jaw bunch a couple of times as the words did their work.

"Like I said, whatchuwan' from me?"

"Who would you go to to get a gun near West Twenty-ninth in West Little River area?"

"How would I know?"

"Because that's your territory so quit wasting my time!"

The kid leaned back in the chair using as much time as possible to delay return to his cell. "Depends. What size?"

"Nine mil hand pistol."

Clarence's smooth brow tried to knit as if he were trying to remember what he'd last read about the highest grossing rap artist on the charts. Finally, answered, "You could go to a couple'a corners and watch…"

Frank put his hand up. "I want particulars Clarence. I want a name, a who, and where to find him."

"What's in it for me?"

Frank glanced up at the parole officer and received a slight nod. "I'll see what I can get you. Now tell me before I lose patience and start taking things away."

The eyes hopelessly walked the walls in a dark gaze. "There's a guy that sits in an old beater Mazda, blue, I think, at Arcola Lake Park. They call him Baggy 'cause he's got bags under his eyes."

"You mean like an older man would?"

Clarence shrugged his shoulder. "I guess. I only heard about him."

"And who else would get me a gun?"

Clarence screwed up his face and whined, "Man! Ain't one enough?"

Another look passed between the watchful officer and the detective with a nod that followed.

"No, one isn't enough. I'll take one more and then your life here will improve for a minute or two. You clam up and suddenly any privileges you thought you were going to get will go by-by for a long time, you get me?"

Clarence put his chin down to his chest and glared up through his maturing brow ridges. "There's a house over on fifteenth near eighty-ninth, you know, in that area. You can't miss it because it has about a million wind chimes on the front porch. You can't get to the front door without setting up a racket. He's supposed to have all kinds of guns."

Frank nodded to the officer who put a hand under Clarence's arm as a signal to rise.

Watching the lad stroll out, Calleigh slowly shook her head in wonder. "What, no good boy, thanks for the information?"

Keeping his eyes on the now closed door, Frank answered, "When these kids are this far into the system because of bad behavior, you don't thank them for having to fight to pull out information. Kids like these are the ones that their mothers should have smacked on their backsides when they were four for arguing about cleaning up their toys. Here they start them from the bottom and hope some get the idea."

"What does he get or was that a ruse to get him to talk?"

"Oh he'll get something. That's what the nod from the officer was about. He'll probably get a dish of about two teaspoonfuls of ice cream with sprinkles before he goes back to the dorm."

"Not as a dessert after dinner?"

"And let the other kids know he made 'the man' happy for whatever reason? That's a beating in the showers for sure."

"Okay, and if the next kid says something like 'Hey, nice jugs' I should go all hardnosed on him?"

"Wouldn't hurt."

Not only was there no necessity for Calleigh to bristle at a rude comment, the boy answered Frank's questions in a forthright manner. Actually, except for the order of the dealers, the information was the same; the man at the park and the man at the wind chime laden house. Again, at the look and nod, the boy was promised a treat for his cooperation. In this case, because there was no work at getting the information, the indication was he would be well rewarded.

"And the reward this time?" Calleigh inquired.

"Maybe a cherry or some chocolate sauce."

"All on two spoonfuls of ice cream?"

"They're starting at the bottom here. Even if the judge decrees they'll only get parole this time without any incarceration, they're treated as if they were going to go to a Juvenile Justice Home. It's just a reminder of what their life could be like if they go and act stupid again."

The third young inmate of the temporary holding facility had nothing to say even under Frank's most intimidating glare and promises of nothing good in his future. Not letting the farce continue, the parole officer took the boy away after a mere ten minutes.

Returning to the central office the two picked up their weapons, wallets and I.D. badges and turned in the visitor badges and walked out the double secure exit doors.

Once in the car, Calleigh suggested, "Hey, once we stop off at the lab and sign out, you want to go get drink? I'll see if anyone else is around that wants to come."

"Uh, yeah, sure." Frank's eyes searched Calleigh's face while she put the keys in the ignition and fired up the engine. He could only hope the rest of the CSI team would be busy or gone home already.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Hey, H, got a minute?"

"Always Eric. What have you got?"

"Deeshawn's friends didn't have a whole lot to say yesterday. From their point of view, almost everyone in the school was no friend of theirs. This included the other members of the math club, especially Letitia."

"Then she did express some animosity toward Deeshawn?"

"From what I got, not actually in so many words. We had already talked to Ms. Huerta, the math club supervisor, and she said Letitia took anything as a negative. According to Tad, Melvin, and Winton, she was a crybaby who couldn't take a loss. Worse, she wouldn't acknowledge the competitor if she won. When she did win, you'd think she was all that and a bag of chips."

"Did they think she was deserving of any of the wins in the competitions they set up?"

"They said she was almost as good as Deeshawn unless she lost her concentration. It was easy to throw her off by making noises, slamming doors, even clearing their throats. If she was more than half way through a problem, she couldn't get back on track and would be beat to the solution every time. They couldn't understand why she left the room in tears."

"I don't think it takes a math genius to miss those clues."

"I checked and none of them have sisters. Mine were always ready to teach me about why girls cry."

Horatio thought about his brother and himself growing up in a dysfunctional household. He thought, _'many of us were in the dark about such mysteries'_

Recovering from the speculations, Horatio went on. "What is your next step on that angle?"

"I want to get into Letitia's back yard. You got any ideas?"

"As a matter of fact I do. I found us a doohickey."

One side of Eric's mouth twisted up into a grin. "A what?"

"And someone who knows all about operating one from several hundred feet in the air." Horatio was enjoying the intrigue he was setting up.

"Okay, is this someone a member of the police force?" Eric loved to play twenty questions.

"No, she's not."

"But she knows how to operate something that will allow us to go into the Odobescu yard?"

"And without setting foot on it."

"One of those flying robots?"

"Nope, better. We take pictures similar to the ones taken from the space shuttle only of a smaller area and from an aircraft."

"So she's a scientist or an astronaut?" Eric's voice rang with hope on the latter.

"A scientist from the Florida Museum of Natural History, Dr. Sonnier. She has access to a machine that will take photographs of the land and show any disturbances and perhaps what is under it. If we can show a judge photographs that are suspicious, we can get a warrant."

"When do we go up?"

"Sorry Eric, we're using a small Bell helicopter and there is only room for the pilot and two passengers with the machine."

Recovering smoothly from his disappointment, Eric asked, "What's next on the to-do list?"

"Go to the Beeks warehouse and retrieve an import shipping list if you would please. When you have it here, examine it for anything that looks peculiar."

"You mean like children's clothes going to an old folks' home?"

"Exactly."

"Want me to take Wolfe?"

"I would rather he looks at the Deeshawn evidence some more. He is good at noting discrepancies in what people say so have him go over what the members of the math club told us. Tell him that, if he feels it necessary to return to talk to Ms. Lorento or even the students."

"Will do."

# # #

"Dr. Sonnier?"

The slowly turning helicopter's 'wings' on the rotor stirred up more than just a gentle breeze as Horatio extended his hand to clasp the more delicate one held out to him.

"Yes. I am glad to meet you Detective Caine. I am very interested in this project. It could open an entirely new aspect for this camera's use."

Horatio detected a bayou Cajun accent to the woman's voice.

"Here, let's get in and get going." Her voice carried a child-like excitement.

Though he sat alone in the back seat, his headset with the microphone allowed him to hear and talk to the anthropologist with little problem. Her purpose up front was to operate the specialized camera while he could give her directions from the back. The pilot, saying little, could hear them both.

Once up in the air, Horatio asked, "How long will it be before the pictures are analyzed?"

"Before we get to the museum lab. They will be put through several light spectrums to give as much contrast as possible. If my staff thinks there is anything more than disturbed ground, they will do what they can to show what it is. It is just a matter of computer graphics which doesn't take long at all."

"I suppose it's too much to ask to be able to see a gun in the ground or even a box?"

The long dark hair lifted with her shoulders as she shrugged. "Who can say?" At the height we'll be flying we never know. The ancient structures next to the pyramids seen from space for the first time were not what they were expecting either. It was an exercise in what would happen using the pyramids as visible edifices from space. Everyone was blown away at the sight of the outlines of buildings near them. Later when we saw ancient waterways in northern Africa where now there is only desert, we were speechless. The science is still new."

"Do you use this technique very often?"

"Mon Dieu, mais non, our little museum does not have the money for such nice equipment. I was taught how to use it when I went out on a field study to Chiapas in Mexico. The space station crew had noted a bunch of old structures and Dr. Ophelia Zuna set up a research study hoping to find new Aztec ruins. I did a short stint flying over the area using this machine and then analyzing the findings. I have borrowed this from the Florida Anthropological Research Center in Tampa. It was only on the say so of the Miami-Dade Police that we get to use it. If so, after three hours it goes home."

"And I suppose if we break it, we buy it."

The doctor's dark eyes twinkled merrily as she said, "I don't think you have a budget large enough to afford it either."

Horatio shuddered at the thought of the cost. The people of Miami would have to fend off criminals on their own because there would be no budget for police. He didn't have long to dwell on that unpleasant concept. "There, that lone house at the end of the road."

The day lit exterior of the home from the air didn't look much more inviting than the night view had. The roof looked like it didn't do much for keeping out the rain and any wind no doubt lifted shingles up more and more with each puff. The object of his curiosity was sadder yet. The back yard was surrounded in name only by a brick wall. A gap about three feet wide on the back side showed a rough path into the forested area in back. The yard itself was a jumble of discarded junk, bare spots in the tall weeds, a dead tree, and several saplings that didn't show much promise. Weaving among this disarray were signs of paths that the weeds were trying to erase as soon as the feet passed by. On the other side of the wall lay what looked like old wooden barrels, a wheel barrow turned upside down with no wheel, and what could have been several shovels in piles of dirt or leaning against the wall.

"Will it be any more trouble to scan the area beyond the wall in back of the house?"

Dr. Sonnier looked down briefly and shook her head. "No trouble, it is small so it will be included in the photos. We will be swinging over at various heights. I would want to anyway what with those piles of dirt and the shovels."

"Exactly what I was thinking."

She spoke quietly to the helicopter pilot who began following simple grid patterns over the area in back of the house, starting at a thousand feet and then increments of five hundred feet more for the next four passes.

Looking over her shoulder at Horatio, she said, "I think a research scientist is much like a detective, no?"

"In my department, we all have science backgrounds. In our case, the research is looking at how and who."

"Not why?"

He shook his head sadly. "The why is up to the courts, to determine the course of the punishment if any. Once I prove guilt, I'm done."

"Still, is there any excitement for you when you are on a case?"

"There is, but I'll bet it's different from what you feel when looking at artifacts from the past."

Looking slyly at the busy pilot, Dr. Sonnier turned to a notepad and quickly jotted down a few words. She turned with an impish smile on her heart shaped face and handed Horatio a note.

He smiled and after noting that there was no 'rear view mirror' for the pilot to see him in he nodded his head. The note was an invitation to coffee for that evening and signed Manon.

# # #

Horatio supposed that every piece of the planet had sunrises or sunsets or even both to boast of. And yet, looking about at the brightly lit area he wondered what could surpass this. From the west, the setting sun blared its last herald cry of light while from the east the great thunderheads echoed the same just as brightly but with a gleam that was whiter. No one in the outdoor café could have sat in shadow even if they wished to.

Glad he had gotten his hair cut the day before, he had only to hurry home for a quick shower and shave. Dressed in a lightweight powder blue jacket with a slightly darker shirt, open at the neck, he hoped this was going to be a social date, not business.

The results of the flyover were ready as he arrived at the museum, having followed Manon's SUV that was almost as big as the department's hummer. He didn't have a chance to vocally acknowledge her invitation at the air field or as they walked to the lab where the pictures were on display on computer monitors.

As he hoped, several areas in the back yard showed disturbance. Several closest to the house contained undetermined objects giving Horatio just cause to get a warrant to search the grounds. At the same time, Dr. Sonnier was even more excited at seeing other disturbed areas.

She called for a couple of members of her staff and hurriedly discussed what she saw. Finally, turning to Horatio, she declared, "Unless I am greatly mistaken, we are looking at graves, both recent and of some age. We know that the Miami area has long been occupied by native Americans, even some from Mexico and points south. We think the Mound Builders of Ohio, Wisconsin and Indiana were part of the same people. This could be part of an undiscovered village if not of the Mound Builders then the descendants."

"I know remains have been found by construction crews in past years."

"They are naturally all over. These people moved frequently even if just a few miles. Then, as the Europeans came in, they were forced to move to get away from ways they didn't understand. When they were moved en masse to Oklahoma we all but forgot they had ever been here."

"But, you said some were recent graves?"

"I find that very puzzling. Would something like that be covered in your warrant?"

Without replying, Horatio had pulled out his phone and called Frank Tripp. "Frank, I know the courts are closed now but first thing in the morning, I'd like you to get a warrant to search Odobescu's back yard. We may have something more than a gun to look for." He paused for the expected question. "Dr. Sonnier is fairly sure she is looking at graves both ancient and recent." He paused again. "Just post a car out there for the night. Tell the men that if Odobescu tries to leave tonight, to discourage him from doing so, but don't alarm him. I'll bet Letitia wouldn't be with him if he leaves so let him know that leaving her alone isn't a good idea. They can take the story from there." After one more pause he said, "That's right and I'll see you first thing after you get the warrant." With that he slid the phone into his jacket pocket.

"Now we'll be able to dig just about anywhere."

"What time will you start?"

"That will depend on how soon Sergeant Tripp will be able to get the warrant. I'll have to call you in the morning."

Lowering her voice in a conspiratorial fashion Manon answered, "We'll talk about it over coffee, alright?"

As soon as he could get printouts of the pictures, he headed back to the lab to get reports from his team and to give them a heads up on what was to come.

Calleigh and Tripp had arrested Baggy, Doyle Larabee, for gun possession without proper licensing. He had sixteen guns from an a.k.a. rifle to five Saturday night specials in the backseat of his car. After looking at the house with all of the chimes, they decided that they would have to survey the owner, Marcus Trap, to decide when he was at home and when they could rush the house with SWAT.

Meanwhile they spent the afternoon with Doyle, finding out what he remembered of his customers. Once he was convinced it would be a simple matter of showing a picture of him to a couple of witnesses, he said that he might have sold a gun or two to some young people. Then he hedged his confession with saying he had no idea of their ages since he looked more closely at money than I.D.s. This was enough for Tripp to hold the man for seventy-two hours until he got a positive I.D. from the Detention Center kids.

Wolfe had found no identifiable fingerprints in Deeshawn's room except for the family and friends. After going over the notes on what the kids had said, he believed he probably would have had to hear the words spoken since he couldn't see anything wrong with what was said.

Finishing his mental review, Horatio leaned back in the chair and decided that tomorrow was another day. Just at that moment, like an actress appearing onstage in the perfect spotlight, Manon stepped around corner and paused. She was dressed in a simple sleeveless dress of light yellow with a plunging neckline. Fabric bows perched in clips that gathered the material on her shoulders. Facing the sun, the dress glowed peach. Though her dark hair was still hanging loosely as it had during the day, it seemed to have more curl. She also knew how to apply makeup so that every beauty was highlighted.

Rising as if facing royalty, he waited for her glance. Now he knew how peasants of old felt when a ruler passed by; dust driven up by the wheels of the coach was a blessing.

Seeing his hair haloed in a more golden red and emphasized by what was reflected from the clouds, she smiled. Her first thought was, 'and to think I was afraid I wouldn't find him in a crowd.' Her first words were, "I hope I didn't keep you waiting."

"I came early."

"What a great place. Do you come here often?"

"As often as I can. They have very good coffee."

Both quickly looked around to find a barista. Their action brought a young man to the table where he took their orders for two expressos.

As the man left the table, Manon twisted her head. "Of French heritage though I may be, I have never been able to take coffee with cream or sugar. I am the shame of my family."

"And where do they live?"

Her eyebrows wriggled as she looked at Horatio carefully. "No, you are not joking, are you? Is my accent gone? Really?"

Horatio's chin led his head in a circle. "I never guess or assume. I hear an accent but am no expert so I always ask."

"La! The scientist to the last. Alright, my family lives in the Louisiana bayou park, Atchafalaya Basin. My father and brothers are park rangers as were my grandfather and so on since the area was designated."

"And you are the only rebel?"

"Ever since I found a piece of tree sap with a mosquito trapped inside. I looked up what would happen to it in time and I was hooked on old things."

Deep brown eyes met sky blue behind cups to lips.

"And you? Where is your family?"

"My parents and brother are dead."

Her head jerked as if she had been hit. "I am so sorry to hear that."

He gave her a grim smile. "It happens in the best of families."

She returned with a weak upturn of her lips. "Yes, it is still sad. But, how did you get to be a policeman with a leaning to science?"

"I kept hearing about this new way of looking at a crime scene, one thing led to another, I went back to college and here I am."

"Such a path we took to meet."

"Indeed. If there was nothing else to my career, I think this is quite a reward."

He was pleased to see her blush as she ducked her head at the compliment.

Continuing the game, she added, "I am guessing you mean there is more to our careers than who we meet and I agree."

"I have to admit I don't know what your specialty is."

"I am an archaeologist with a particular interest in the anthropological study of the local American Indians."

Horatio leaned back with raised eyebrows making Manon giggle. That is quite a mouthful isn't it?"

"And how would you describe your job to someone who doesn't understand forensics?"

"How do I examine the evidence? Hmm, I burn it to look at the spectrum of elements to identify it, I add chemical agents to see how it reacts to further identify it, and I put it under a microscope to find trace evidence unseen by the naked eye. I examine all of what I find for DNA as well. By putting these results and more together, with the help of my team who either have degrees in science or majored in forensics and the help of the MDPD, we usually find the criminal."

Manon leaned back in her chair with raised eyebrows. "You see, for both of us, it takes less time to do our work than explain it."

Horatio was glad that she got it.

It seemed like barely half an hour later he glanced at his watch to find that it was close to midnight. Had they bothered to eat? Between a fascinating exchange of knowledge and the thrill of flirting that he hadn't felt in a long time, the evening had melted away.

Seeing his glance at his wrist, Manon also looked at a delicate Bulova watch from the 1950's. "Cher, I must go! It is early by Cajun social time but taking a siesta while flying in a helicopter is hard to do." She was trying not to twist her fascinating lips into a smile.

"Isn't it though? Let me walk you to your car." Horatio casually tossed a fifty dollar bill onto the table to cover whatever they might have eaten and to pay for the baristas' overtime.

At her car, they parted with promises to let her know when the search warrant would be carried out so her team could be ready to join them. "If this is an old grave yard, I can only hope that not too much of it was disturbed."

Horatio drove away with his lips pressed firmly together. His hope was just the opposite from hers; that the disturbed ground was as plain as could be and the search for a gun was quick and sweet.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Mr. Odobescu, this is for you. This is a warrant to search your back yard." Tripp said with his no-nonsense tone of voice as if he were expecting trouble from the man who was as big as he was.

Letitia, still in a robe and nightgown grabbed the paper from her father's hands. As if this was an often repeated game, she also stepped out of his reach and turned to one side as he tried to retrieve the sheaf. "Wait Papa, I'm reading," she said impatiently. Her gaze rode down a page and then a hand quickly flipped it over to the next page and she repeated the action.

Horatio wasn't sure whether to be amused at the idea that a fourteen year old math whiz might be able to understand the legalese of a warrant or at the idea that she could pretend so well.

When she came to the last page, she calmly handed the warrant to her father. "They can pretty much do what they want Papa." Her voice had become small and timid making her sound very young.

Her father's face fell causing his eyes to go wide. His large brown eyes flecked with green took on an anguished look. "Come, I show you. Letitia, you go upstairs and stay."

For once the girl had nothing to say and did as she was told.

Once in the back yard, Horatio looked for a gate and asked permission to open it to allow the ground sensor to be wheeled in.

While watching Ryan push the machine back and forth across the yard, which was about as interesting as watching someone mow a lawn, Tripp murmured, "I thought that anthro-whichever was going to be here."

"I think you mean anthropologist, and she's an archeologist, Frank. We had a slight hitch in the plans. She thinks some of the depressions could be old American Indian burial sites. This could be a graveyard and if so, it can't be physically disturbed without the presence of an official from the Tequesta Indian council. She knows the ins and outs of the contacts so she is tending to that now. She said she would call if she'll be able to come today."

"So, what good is this?" Tripp waved his hand at the operation.

"She said that burials of more than a hundred years ago would be deeper than what we hope to find."

These words had hardly come out of his mouth when Ryan stopped and said with a deadly serious tone, "Uh, H, you'd better come see this."

The image on the screen of the ground penetrating radar machine was quite clear; it was the outline of the top part of a body.

"I thought these weren't supposed to be this close to the house," Tripp said indignantly.

"Mr. Wolfe, how deep down is this body?"

Ryan looked at the readout on the side of the screen. "It's about five feet down. Isn't that too close to the surface to be an Indian burial?"

"More than that, gentlemen, it isn't just bones but a complete body." Horatio's voice fell to an ominous whisper.

"Do we dig it up?" Tripp's jaw couldn't have jutted any further forward without being dislocated.

Horatio felt more than heard his phone ringing from his jacket pocket. "One moment, I might have an answer for you shortly.

"Yes, Dr. Sonnier." He had decided it best to keep their personal relationship different from their professional. "What do you have to tell me?" He paused. "I'm glad to hear it because we have a situation here that you might be able to help us with."

He thoughtfully folded his phone and signaled two officers to stand by Mr. Odobescu. The pale face in the upstairs window disappeared. A moment later, clothed in her usual ankle length skirt and blouse with a sweater against the morning chill, Letitia appeared to stand by her father.

He also signaled another officer who was holding small flags on wire sticks to come forward. Once they had the outline of the figure clear, the officer marked out the area where the body was. He put one flag at each corner and then one in between each of those marking an oblong box that was plain to see.

Once done he told Ryan to continue the sweep so no time would be wasted while they waited for the doctor to arrive.

# # #

"Dr. Hawk's Claw has a degree in archaeology and another in osteology. He is one of the tribe's historians." Manon said as introduction to Horatio.

The man's salt and pepper hair showed a modern haircut under a straw hat that was curled up on either side. His sun wrinkled features creased in a smile as he proffered his hand. "How can I be of help today?"

In spite of the friendly words Horatio heard 'I'll stop you cold in your tracks if you disturb anything to do with an archeological site.' He offered his hand in return though he didn't smile. "Glad you could get here so quickly. We're not quite sure what we're looking at here."

After Ryan had repositioned the GPR between the flags, Dr. Hawk's Claw, walking as if he were about to assess a kitten in a well, went to the machine's screen and stared at it. He ran his fingers down the display. "This is a recent burial." He held up a finger. "This is not to say that it isn't a member of the Tequesta tribe or some other Native American. All we can do is exhume the body and see."

Frustrated with having had to wait for the doctor's arrival, Tripp growled, "And what happens if you find out this is an In…a Native American."

"Not to worry Detective. Native American or not, this person shouldn't be interred here with his ancestors if there are any. We have laws. Anyway, we haven't even determined that yet."

"Is there any particular procedure you would like us to use?" Horatio asked respectfully.

"I imagine your department has plenty of experience at pulling suspiciously dead bodies out of the ground without harming the evidence so just do what you do. I'll hang around in case the machine detects something as interesting or more."

After a quick call to Alexx to make arrangements for the disinterment, he nodded to Ryan to continue the search for the gun. Ten minutes later, about twenty feet from the body, Ryan again signaled Horatio. He, Manon, and Dr. Hawks' Claw went to look at the outline of another body. Horatio glanced significantly over his shoulder to Tripp who returned a disgusted look.

The officer with the flags outlined the buried figure, and the group huddled together while Ryan doggedly walked after the machine.

"We're looking for a gun and finding bodies. When can you ever find what you want?" Tripp growled.

Manon looked in askance at the tall man as if not quite sure if he was joking.

Ryan stopped, raised a hand, only this time with a grin on his face. "I think we have it Horatio."

This time Horatio and Tripp alone walked to look at the screen. On it a square object that measured about a foot wide and long was showing.

To be sure, Horatio summoned the scientists to take a look.

"If that's metal, we didn't use it in the days we now consider to be antiquity. We used leather or straw for containers."

"From the look of the density, I'm guessing that's metal."

"So, we're free to dig it up?"

"Dr. Hawk's Claw grinned. "I'll help."

Horatio politely refused. "If this turns out to be evidence we have particular procedures we have to follow."

Two officers who had been standing by with shovels set to work.

Horatio gave a cold look to Letitia's father noticing that she was holding tightly to his hand. The big man was staring blankly at the activity as if he had gone blind.

The box was pulled out of a three foot hole. Once the dirt had been scraped off, Tripp opened it and found a nine millimeter glock 17, an older model, wrapped in plastic. This time, everyone looked at the father who stared as blankly as before.

What, wondered Horatio, was this gun doing in the back yard? It was obviously different from the gun used to shoot Deeshawn, yet it was hidden as if it had been used in a crime. Did the two bodies have anything to do with the gun?

Giving the two officers standing by Mr. Odobescu a glance, the two stiffened, wary of any move that would signal that the man might break and run.

Horatio approached as casually as he could under the circumstances noticing that Letitia took a guarded step in front of her father. "Letitia, I'm afraid we're going to have to take your father in for questioning."

"What about my daughter? We alone, she have no one!" Mr. Odobescu blurted.

Letitia stood straight. "I can take care of myself Papa."

"You won't have to Letitia." Horatio said gently. He bent his head to one side. "I know you have heard of DCFS." He was referring to the Florida Department of Child and Family Services.

"Yeah," she said in a guarded voice dressed with in fear.

A feminine voice from behind made Horatio turn around. "They are not as bad as you may have heard ma chere. My family was not very responsible and my brothers and I spent many times with different families in Louisiana. We were happy with each new set of parents. Oh, la, and the different foods we had, so good!"

"But I can take care of myself," Letitia reiterated forcefully.

"Let's see how it goes. For now, you can ride with your father to where I work."

"You sound like the doctor who said the shot wouldn't hurt." For once she almost smiled.

While the two waited in a patrol car, Ryan continued to work the grid. After half an hour, Dr. Hawk's Claw asked if he could work beyond the broken brick wall to see if it was an ancient graveyard site. The machine found traces of five deeply buried skeletons each with what Dr. Hawk's Claw said appeared to be pottery.

Meanwhile, Alexx arrived with her morgue van. Looking at the yard, her first comment was, "This looks like two bodies, Horatio."

"I'm sorry Alexx, things have gotten a bit hectic here. I hope you have a second bag."

Alexx shook her head and waved her hand with a wrinkled brow. "Now you know I've been at this too long not to be prepared for surprises. I'm just thinking of the time it's going to take to get these people out of the ground."

Noticing that Dr. Hawk's Claw was now by his side, Horatio added. "I have another surprise as well. There is a possibility that these people are Native Americans. If so the Tequesta council will have to be notified so they can determine which tribe will be involved."

Alexx reached out an elegant hand to greet the doctor. "I'll run a DNA test as soon as I get to the lab. That and the bone structure should tell us soon enough about the ancestry."

"I have a feeling they didn't just drop dead of their own. I'm sure that even if they are of tribal descent their relatives will expect to wait while the crime is solved." He turned to Horatio. "Do you think the home owner here had anything to do with it?"

"That is what we hope to determine by the evidence. What will you do about the rest of the graves?"

"Find the village, explore, find as many of the graves as possible, mark them out and go from there. It's been two hundred years or more so we might just exhume what we find and send them to the Tequesta museum to be set up both for reverence and for education. We'll just have to see."

# # #

"Mr. Hubbell? My name is Detective Eric Delko. You remember Detective Duquesne?"

"Calleigh, please." She flashed the Beeks' warehouse manager a smile.

"Of course, Calleigh, how could I forget? And Detective Delko. Now what can I do for Miami's finest?"

Though the surprise was evident on Hubbell's face, he didn't register any alarm at the request for the shipping import manifests for the last six months. More, instead of asking the secretary, Molly, to do the copying, he did it himself.

Calleigh stood by as if fascinated by the copying process, keeping an eye out to see that no pages were skipped. At the same time she made small talk about how and when the business was established.

At the same time, Eric did the same with Molly only asking her what it had been like working in the days of Beeks Senior.

He noticed the faraway look the middle aged woman's eyes got as she remembered the days back then. "He was such a kind and good man. I was with him when he first bought this place. We started out working in this corner but with nothing to separate us from the noise of the fork lifts, the carts that brought the goods from the ship and the trucks coming and going from the bays out there. I don't know how I stood it. Yet, once a month Mr. Beeks (I never called him Michael though he asked me constantly), he brought fresh flowers for my desk. Once a week, on Saturdays, he brought two boxes of doughnuts for the work crew."

"When did the business become Beeks and Son?"

"A month after Mikey was born. As soon as he knew his boy was healthy, he had the sign made and had the lawyer draw up papers. Oh, he was so proud."

"Did your responsibilities increase over time?"

"Oh, yes, of course. I started out as just the bookkeeper/receptionist to private secretary. He would take me on his business trips. I would take notes about agreements and then type up the contracts to be signed. He took me into all kinds of warehouses to inspect goods so I would know what I was writing about. Sometimes we didn't get to dinner until nine at night."

Erik let the pause afterwards grow.

"Oh, it was all above board and all, you know. We had separate rooms!" she exclaimed.

He let that one go. "When did Mikey start having a legal say in the business?"

The mist dissipated. "He'd go overseas during summer vacation after his sophomore year in college. He even learned to speak a bit of Chinese and Korean. He said he wasn't very good but he sure impressed me. I have to confess I missed traveling but I knew it wouldn't go on forever."

"And when did Mikey have any legal part in the business?"

"When he graduated," Molly said candidly. "Mr. Beeks had insisted he take all kinds of business courses so he would understand contracts and all. I guess what we did back in the day was just simpler."

Erik wasn't sure what the look on her face meant this time so he asked, "What is your company title now?"

"Executive Secretary. I still do what I've always done in the office. Now that Mikey is dead, I think I'm going to retire when everything is straightened out. That way, the family can start fresh." She took a tissue from a box on the corner of her desk and dabbed her eyes.

"Who kept track of shipments?"

Molly's eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Who kept track of the where out of country the shipment went once they reached the US?"

"Well, it was more like keeping track of who paid for what they got. Receivers paid when they got their goods. We're a small operation by many standards so it's easy to see when our books are running short."

"What if someone says they didn't get what you sent?"

"We have a tracking system. It's like most shipping companies nowadays where there is an electronic device that reads a bar code. This thing transmits the process to our computers and sends emails to the place that ordered it. We would know if something was lost."

Eric gave her his lop sided smile. "So lost isn't really lost?"

Molly actually gave his question some thought. "I guess the only way something would be lost is if it never got into the system in the first place." She paused, her eyes slowly tracing a line from one side to the other. "You know, there is a gap from the ships that come into port either here or the larger Miami port, you know those big shipping containers. Trucks bring those to us. Anyway, they use bills of lading and we have to inventory each crate. Then we put bar codes on them. If something was going to go missing, the time between inventory and barcoding would be it, I guess. Why do you ask?"

"Just curiosity I guess. It's part of my job, you know."

"It must really be fascinating." Her hand rose gently where her fingers formed a place for her chin to rest as if she were posing for a portrait.

The handsome CSI looked nervously at Calleigh to see how far the printing had gone. Just at that moment she turned.

"Ready to go, Eric?"

"You'll have to excuse me Ms…"

"Call me Molly, everyone does."

"It's been a pleasure Molly."

They shook hands while her cheeks colored ever so slightly.

The ninety percent humidity and eighty-five degree temperature was a shock after the dry, cool temperature of air conditioning.

Swallowing a few times to get his equilibrium back, Eric wondered out loud if Molly had ever been married. "For sure she had a big crush on Beeks Senior. They traveled together all over the States as well as to foreign places. The way she put it, I'm guessing there was some hanky-panky."

"I'd guess nothing ever came of it though. I looked her up before we came here. She's never been married and if she ever had a child there's no trace now."

"Do you know about Senior's wife?"

"Died of stomach cancer when the junior was about ten."

"So, I guess Mikey grew up with his father alone to show him the way. It will be interesting to meet Junior the second."

"I can hardly wait to take a look at those shipping lists. Molly said the only time something would get lost was between being unloaded from a ship and being barcoded for destination."

After a moment's pause, Calleigh said, "I wonder how we would know."

# # #

"Horatio, I think I have the red flag; several in fact." Calleigh waved the sheaf of papers she had brought from the warehouse.

Horatio turned a gentle smile onto his favorite blond. "And they are?"

"Step into my layout room, said the spider." She waved her arm to the room with the table that had lighting underneath.

Horatio watched the pages being laid out and noticed several red lines. "The red flags?"

"Well, aren't you just the observant one? I was afraid I hadn't been obvious enough." She looked coyly up through her hair.

"Okay, now, you'll notice that the shipments I noted are all dishware and all headed for the Jacksonville Naval Air Station."

Horatio waited knowing the obvious conclusion of dishes for the mess halls on base would be wrong.

"Now, see this column? It specifies the carrier for each shipment. What struck me is that no other carrier has these initials. I called the warehouse and talked with Molly, the secretary. She said that meant that this shipment was taken by Mikey in his plane. He never had much cargo so he apparently he could take these shipments."

"Even if it was every week, that would still be a very small shipment for a base with a compliment of over a thousand at any one time." The nearly six foot red head raised his chin as he perused the blocks of lights in the ceiling. "You know what Calleigh, call the base and see what you can find out. You might just have to take a road trip with Eric."

# # #

Answering his phone, Alexx's purr warmed Horatio's ear. "Horatio, the victims from the back yard were men and they were not killed at the same time. I'm also guessing from first glance that they were not Native Americans but I won't know for sure until I run tests. It's just that one has dark red hair and I never heard of any tribe with that color hair."

"You're right, I don't think there were ever any Native Americans with that color."

"More, the two men were shot and buried several months apart though I am guessing they were killed with the same type of weapon. One was a through and through but I found one bullet. It's up in Calleigh's lab now."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Horatio got a chair for Letitia and put it in the hallway across from the interview room's glass wall so father and daughter could see each other. He did not do this for their peace of mind. When on the trail of a criminal he didn't give a damn about anyone's peace of mind. Until Odobescu was cleared, Horatio was going to make him uncomfortable, going to manipulate him, and squeeze his shoes until the presence of the bodies and the gun in his own back yard was explained. Letitia was somehow part of the man's problems and he was going to look for any cues he could get when Dad looked at his child. Letitia would just have to be patient.

He explained to the girl that he was going to ask her father some questions. He noticed her feet shuffling beneath her skirt. He squatted down as he often did when examining evidence on the ground.

"So, what do you think of the lab here?"

"I'm surprised how much you can find out about someone just from what they used or touched." She averted her eyes to the floor and began gently rocking back and forth.

"Are you alright? Would you like some soda while you wait?"

"I'm fine. What are you going to ask my Dad? He's a good guy you know. He loves me." She stopped rocking.

"I'm sure he does. I have to find out what he knows about what we found this morning."

She lowered her head until her pale face was hidden by her dark hair. "You're going to grill him like a cheeseburger? I watch those TV shows where the cop accuses the perp and watches him sweat."

"I'm going to ask him some questions is all. After all, there were dead bodies in the back yard and a gun."

"But not the gun that Deeshawn was killed with. I heard somebody say that while Ms. Valera showed me around."

Horatio winced inwardly. "It's the same caliper, shoots the same bullets. That's another thing we have to talk to your father about. Now excuse me. I don't want to keep your father waiting unnecessarily."

Letitia slouched down on the chair with the typical teen deadpan look that spoke volumes about waiting to grow up and do things right.

He paused at the door while the thought of finding out who talked about the gun passed through his mind. It probably wasn't going to affect anything but talking about evidence before they knew about the rest of the clues could make or break a case in the courts. Adding it to his long to-do list, he shoved his shoulder against the glass door.

Yoet Odobescu had seen the detective talk to his daughter and then pause at the door. With cuffed hands tucked between his thighs, he sat up straight, expectantly.

Horatio walked to the end of the table and leaned on his hands. He asked in a conversational tone, "Mr. Odobescu, what do you know about those bodies in your back yard? You must have noticed the disturbed earth back there."

The man's jaw worked back and forth under his heavy mustache while he stared at the table top. He glanced for a moment at his child and back down, and then drew his thick black brows up in a tent above the bridge of his nose. "I did not know they were there. The back wall is broken. Maybe someone came in from there and buried them."

"Why drag a body all the way to within fifteen feet of the house? Why not bury it nearer the wall or even outside of the wall?"

"I don't know. People are strange."

"Again I ask if you noticed the disturbed ground. I bet your daughter goes out there sometimes. Didn't she tell you about it? Should I ask her?"

"No!" His hand rose beseechingly towards Horatio as if of its own accord.

"Why wouldn't she say anything to you?" Horatio persisted.

"I don't know." By this point, father and daughter's eyes were locked.

"Excuse me." Horatio pushed off from the table and turned to the door.

As usual, the uniformed officer at the door was there and yet, not there, not showing any reaction to what he heard or saw. He was a presence, a safety precaution if needed, a witness only to attack if it happened. He stood with his eyes fixed on Odobescu.

"Wait. Don't ask Letitia. She didn't do anything bad. I did."

"What did you do?"

"I shot those men. I had to do it. They—they were threatening me because I am a foreigner and don't talk as they do."

"Two men at different times that you were forced to shoot?"

Odobescu waved his hand from side to side. "No, I shoot both at the same time."

"We have proof that isn't true. Try again. Why did you shoot them?"

After a pause, the large man said, "One I shoot because he threatened me. The other, I was drunk and lose my temper at him."

"Where did you shoot them?"

The drooping eyelids sagged a bit more. "I don't remember."

"You kill two men and you don't remember? That seems a bit odd. Was it at your house? In a bar? On a street?"

The Romanian's chin lowered to his chest but he kept his eyes on Horatio. "I killed them."

"Where did you get the gun?" This was going far too easily.

Seemingly relieved at the change of subject, Odobescu raised his head. "I had it for a long time. I had five guns, all Glocks, nine millimeter. They are best for perfect shooting. After using this gun to kill those men I buried it. Then I threw rest into swamp."

"Why bury one and throw the rest in the swamp? Which swamp Yoet?"

The man's face turned to stone.

Horatio was fairly sure the turn of subject wouldn't work but he had figured it was worth a try. Still, he tried again. "Letitia must have wondered about those places where the ground had been dug up. Didn't she ask you?"

"No. She tried but I said it was none of her business and she did not ask again."

"You know what? I don't buy that. Letitia is very smart. If you wouldn't tell her, I'd bet she would go out and do some digging herself." Again he turned to go through the door.

"I tell you no. She is a good girl."

"Mr. Odobescu, your story isn't making sense. I'm going to call for a Child Protective Services representative to come here. As soon as I have a proper witness, I can question Letitia without your permission. Maybe she can fill in the holes here."

"No, please, I'll tell you. I kill one man last month on the road before the turn to my house. I thought I knew him from the old country, many years ago. I always carry my gun then. Then, two weeks ago, the second man comes to my door and I think he wants to rob us, maybe hurt us. Gun is by the front door and I shoot him."

Before Horatio had a chance to consider this yet different version of the demise of the bodies, his phone rang. He excuses himself, stepped into the hallway and down a few paces so Letitia couldn't hear him. It was Alexx.

"Horatio, more news on the bodies; both are male and neither have DNA or facial markers to indicate they are of Native American heritage."

"Good, that solves a potential problem."

"Also, Calleigh told me that the bullet I recovered were from the buried gun and not from the one that killed Deeshawn."

"So I heard."

"You did? I just talked to Calleigh and she said she said she didn't have a chance to tell you."

"Let's just say I heard it through the grapevine."

There was a brief silence. "Now Horatio, you usually don't give much weight to unverified rumor. What's up?"

"Not to worry. I consider the source legitimate but thank you for the confirmation."

After brief consideration, he returned to Letitia's side. "Your father says he killed those men. As soon as he writes his confession, we'll take him to jail and call a Child Protective Services representative for you."

Letitia looked up with the coolest, most intelligent expression Horatio had ever seen on a fourteen year old's face. "I understand."

# # #

Eric caught Calleigh coming around the corner. He said, "Hey, Cal, did I hear you make a sound of frustration earlier this morning? You, who is always so good natured?"

Calleigh smiled as she rolled her blue green eyes to the ceiling. "I was entitled. I was making calls to the Jacksonville Naval Air Station about Beeks bringing in those small shipments of dishes almost every week. Well, I was transferred from one clerk to another, then to an officer and to another. An hour later, I found myself talking to the clerk I started talking to in the first place!"

"Yeah, I know that officialese runaround. So, what did you do?"

Calleigh's voice took on a honeyed southern accent. "I called the officer in charge of the visitor's center."

"And?"

"I chartered a helicopter from the MDPD and as soon as I give these ballistics reports to Horatio we're taking a trip."

# # #

Two hours after the conversation in the hall, the two CSIs were talking to Lieutenant Commander Beeks' commanding officer, Captain Merkel Troy. He was a balding, red faced man with the paunch of a man who spent many hours behind a desk.

"I was greatly saddened to learn of Beeks' death. He was a fine officer and did his job well." The voice carried the perfect pitch of fatherly melancholy without being too maudlin.

"What were his duties?"

"Primarily flying supplies out to fleet ships preparing for long voyages and hauling waste products back. Occasionally they did rescue work that the Coast Guard couldn't handle. He flew the Sea Hawk helicopter, you know. Those monsters can handle just about any load short of a barn big as a battle cruiser." Not only the vernacular but the accent said he was most likely from Arkansas.

"Did his duties include bringing in small shipments of dishes from his import-export business almost every week?"

The captain gave a quizzical frown. "When you say small, just how small?"

"We're not sure yet. Small enough to fit in his Cessna 350 with his own luggage included."

"Delivered to where?"

"We don't know. We have manifests showing arrival of the dishes into the warehouse and then only the manager's and secretary's words that he took them to the airport once a week where his plane was and evidently flew them here. We checked his flight logs and there was nothing to show any deviation from the airport in Miami to here."

Captain Troy considered their words in silence for a few seconds tapping the inside of his Annapolis graduation ring on the arm of his chair. Then, exhaling noisily he said, "I can see bringing in a special order now and then to a ship but not every week. I'll have to get some people to investigate and get back to you." He rose from his seat.

Eric said, "Thank you, Captain. We're just trying to figure out why anyone would wish him any harm."

"I don't reckon how anyone here could have anything to do with his death there. It was highly unusual for him to be living in Miami but it happens sometimes. Officers have a great deal of leniency as long as they can prove they can report for duty as scheduled."

The two thanked again him and excused themselves.

The base transport took them to the helicopter with gyros already in motion. From what they could see of the dwindling form that had been their driver, his hand to his ear indicated he was calling someone.

Calleigh gave a laugh as she said, "I guess they wanted security to know we got off safely."

"Left is more like it," Eric retorted. "They're protecting their turf. I don't think they like civilians questioning their activities for any reason whether it resulted in murder or not."

# # #

Calleigh, a manifest in hand, sought out the lab's resident manuscript expert Cynthia Wells. She also had a copy of Beeks' driver's license.

"Hey Cyndi, can you do a quick comparison for me, please?"

Cynthias's face said, 'they all want it quick', but never-the-less she smiled and said, "Sure." Everyone knew that she always declared she would soon be taking donations for a seeing eye dog because of the toll the work took on her vision. They also knew she was joking.

She put the documents under the projector which enlarged them for easier viewing. "Okay, the first thing I notice is that the upward and downward slants are all the made with the same pressure. Then, the one that looks more like a capital 'P' than a 'B' on the manifest still has the same ballooning out from the stem as the license signature. I can't say you have a smoking gun, I'd have to examine it more thoroughly for a definite word. All I can say is that they appear very similar."

"I'll make copies and see that you get them."

# # #

Horatio finished up his last call as he watched lights being turned off in the lab below his elevated office. Turning off all but the small desk lamp and locking the door, he walked down the six treads. Strolling to the elevator he bade goodnight to those who were still working on projects that would not wait for the next day. His day was done but that was rare. He would probably pay for taking off and yet, he didn't care. He had a dinner date with Manon. As he climbed into his car he let his feelings spread into a full blown grin. Not that he didn't often smile; his job, catching criminals with undeniable proof, usually brought a smile to his face. Grinning, however, was fairly rare.

Before starting the engine of the TR-4, the primal growl that always gave him pleasure, he checked his messages to be sure Manon hadn't cancelled. There were a few updates from a few of the lab crew but nothing from Manon.

From his beach condo, he headed for the address she had given him. He found it was a modest apartment building not too far from the Florida Museum of Natural History.

Although she had certainly done herself proud fashion wise at the little café where they had met for coffee, Horatio was hard put not to gape at the wonder of her at the opened door. Her dark hair, her nearly black eyes above the pale high cheekbones and the slightly pointed chin above the golden brown dress with a neckline that plunged beyond any man's dreams stopped his usual flip remarks to women at the early points of dating. All he could do was bow his head once and say, "Wow!"

"Ah, thank you. I love such high praise," she said gaily. "I am ready." She held out her arm in the traditional show of her desire to be taken.

Horatio was more than willing to be her escort, her knight, her bodyguard.

He inquired about her day and she his. As he helped her into the small car, she asked about where they were going for dinner. Just as he was about to answer, he felt his phone purr in his pocket.

Excusing himself and stepping to one side, he caught a glimpse of the puzzled disappointment on her face. Hearing the message, he gave her the bad news. "I'm sorry, Manon. It seems that the Letitia is very upset and demanding to see me. They had her at a home and thought she was settling in. Now she is screaming that she has to tell me something. It could be important."

Manon pursed her lips before speaking. "Your work continues through the night? Oh, la, so I must go heat something for my dinner."

"I am sorry."

Manon shook her head wearily. "Wait until I get a call about a pile of bones that some expensive project must stop for until I can determine who they were, when they lived and whether it is a matter for the police or a museum."

Horatio walked her to her door as slowly as he dared while he thought wildly about what the girl could want to talk to him about. Having apologized to her once, he kissed her cheek and clearly heard her shut the door behind him as he walked down the hall.

How many times had women given up on him before he had had a chance to get to know them or they he? He knew that even Calleigh, pretty as she was, seldom had dates and had never had a lasting relationship as far as he knew. Manon was the first woman who was really interesting to him. Calleigh had been tempting but the working proximity and the timing since his wife's death were too overwhelming. Now, a few years later, this intelligent, witty, flirtatious woman was at the right time and distance and this damned case was putting a wall between them. Considering Tim Speedle's death brought so close again with this Beeks guy who looked so much like him and Manon so tantalizing, some days, he wondered if the job was worth it.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Horatio at his usual quick pace arrived at the one way window to the room where Leticia was being held. The female officer in the room with her didn't look all that confident while the girl nervously paced back and forth from one side to the other. She had her hands inside her large blouse sleeves and seemed to be massaging her forearms as she walked. Occasionally she would stop and ask the officer if she wouldn't check to see if Detective Caine had arrived yet. She didn't seem to be impressed with the officer's assurances that Horatio would come into the room as soon as he arrived.

Horatio turned to the representative from the CPS, Ms. Serena Madwell. Ms. Madwell was one of those people who bring a sense of calm serenity into any room and then spreads it like the scent from flowers.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed your evening Detective Caine. It's just that Leticia was causing such havoc in the home where we placed her, I had to do something. Usually, a young person causes a scene as a way of acting out against or even just denying an unfamiliar situation. We're used to it and we generally let the tantrum work itself out. This time, however, since it has to do with a murder case, I thought to err on the side of giving in."

"I'll go talk to her and see what this is about."

Pausing, Horatio wondered if he should pull Odobescu out of holding, work the girl as he had worked the man. Then, he knew he couldn't do that to Leticia; she was too young. Besides, maybe all she wanted was reassurance that her father was alright.

As soon as Leticia saw Horatio, she threw herself sullenly into one of the two chairs in the room, her legs splayed apart and her arms crossed. "What kept you?"

Horatio sat down across from her and lowered his chin and bent his head to one side. He often found this pose reassured people. He smiled faintly and asked in a tone that was as close to without meaning as he could manage, "Why did you need to see me so urgently?" He really wanted to hear some benign declaration, something that he could reassure and send her off with Ms. Madwell.

"I want to tell the truth. I shot those men. It was me, not my father. I buried the gun too. I mean, he helped me bury them and all; after all I couldn't do that. Still, I killed them. Put me in jail and let my father go."

Horatio's heart sank. Whether or not she shot the men, he would have to ask questions six different ways to figure out what really happened. "May I ask you about how you did this?"

"Well, the first one was from the city bus. I was riding home and he got on after I did. Even though there were other seats on the bus, he sat by me. We started talking and then he started to put his hands on me. First it was his arm around my shoulder when he told a joke. Then the arm slid down so the hand was on my chest." Her face showed her distaste. "Then when I threw his arm off he tried to take my hand. By that time we were at my stop and I had to climb over him to get off. I ran but he followed me all the way home. I slammed the door but he knocked on it. I ran upstairs to where my father keeps his guns, took one, loaded it, ran down stairs, opened the door and fired. A lucky shot I guess because he fell down dead."

"Where was your father?"

"He hadn't come home from work yet."

"What did you do?"

"I had the body dragged halfway around the house by the time my father got home. He pulled him the rest of the way and he dug the hole while I cooked dinner."

Horatio examined the table between them. She had started the story with quite a bit of emotion but by the time she had ended, she was talking about cooking dinner like she might talk about finishing homework or cleaning the house. "What did you cook?"

The side of Leticia's mouth twitched as if she had spit. Her gaze followed the direction before she looked down at her still crossed arms. "I don't remember. This was a month ago, after all."

Another glitch in the story; not remembering what she cooked after killing a man was really unusual. People remembered details like that. Still Horatio nodded. "Okay, tell me about the second man."

"He got off the bus at my home stop and followed me like the other guy did." She paused briefly. "I didn't see him until I was about halfway home. I ran, he followed. I had put the gun in my room. Then I shot him like the other guy."

"Did you cook dinner while your father buried him?"

"No, I changed clothes and we both dug the hole and then filled it in."

"Then you had dinner?"

"What is with you and dinner? Are you hungry or something?"

"I'm just trying to get things in order, Leticia. I'm also guessing you were hungry after all that work."

"I don't remember. Look, I'm telling you I killed those men. Now let my father out of jail."

"Did you kill Deeshawn?"

What color there was briefly drained out of her face. "Sure, I killed him and every other murder you have on your desk," she sneered.

"A small hand fired that gun."

"So?"

"We were able to retrieve a partial print showing a pair of small hands held the gun while it was fired."

"Okay, yeah, I shot the little rat. He and his pals killed any chance I had of getting onto the finals team in the math tournament. He deserved it. I just wish his friends had been there too." She went on to describe the circumstances of where she was on the sidewalk and seeing Deeshawn standing in plain view, stretching his arms to the ceiling.

Horatio had often heard confessions but never one so cold or from one so young.

"Did you tell your father about shooting Deeshawn?"

Leaping to her feet, Leticia let out something between a primal scream and a growl. "Stop asking these dumb questions. Stop it! What does it matter what I did after killing these people?"

Still as deadpan as he could manage, he told her to sit down. When she did, he continued, "We both know you didn't use the gun you'd buried in the back yard. Where did you get the gun to kill Deeshawn?"

This part, about hearing about Baggy, stealing money from her father's wallet and buying the gun, was credible. She didn't have to buy bullets since it was a nine millimeter and her father's guns were the same caliper as well.

"After I shot him I ran throwing the gun into the storm drain as I went." She shrugged slightly. "It was simple."

"Did you tell your father about what you had done?"

Her mouth twitched again, her gaze followed. She was considering whether to react. Apparently she decided not to. "Yeah, I did. I mean, he knew about the others so why not this?"

"Thank you for being so honest, Leticia. Now, if you just sit tight, I'll be back in a few minutes."

Horatio stepped around the corner and called the Assistant District Attorney's office twenty-four hour answering service. Explaining he had a problem that needed immediate legal advice he asked for an attorney to be sent to the lab.

While waiting, he bought a carton of milk from the vending machine and took it to Leticia. She put it on the table with a thud and returned her hands to her sleeves, glowering at him. He excused himself again.

Half an hour later, Rebecca Nivens, briefcase in hand, looking as well-groomed as ever, appeared. "Horatio," she greeted in typical single word phrasing.

"Rebecca," he parroted as he had when they were dating for a brief period. Their breakup and shown him the great disadvantages to dating someone he worked with.

"What's up?" Her tone was always wary since he had dumped her unceremoniously when she had decided to carry through on a case that he thought did not need severe punishment.

He took her to the one way window and told her the circumstances of the girl being in the room.

"This is her word against her father's?"

At his nod, she considered for a moment before shaking her head back and forth. "I don't think this will fly yet. All you have is the parent and daughter protecting each other with no gun in either's hand. Both are probably involved to some extent or another but that's not enough." She turned her inscrutably oriental face to his. "Call me when you have more. Until then, you can keep her with CPS and the father in holding until the forty-eight hours are up while you look for more evidence." She turned and walked swiftly away.

Horatio shook his head as he took the phone out. "Tripp, I'm glad you're still on." He explained the situation with the girl. "I just talked with ADA Nevins. She says we need more proof. I hoped it wouldn't come to this but will you please bring Mr. Odobescu upstairs? Thanks."

When the parent was brought walking between two burly unis who held his arms firmly, Horatio motioned for them to hold still for a moment just around the corner while he talked with Sergeant Tripp.

"Ms. Madwell from CPS is at the window. I'm sure she'll be able to fill you in. I'll take Odobescu into the room and let's see what happens. Make sure the recorder is on, would you?"

"Make sure there's an officer in there with you. I think the kid is nuts." Came the Texan's blunt comment.

Horatio swept his jacket back and put his hands on his hips as he turned his blue eyes on to Tripp's face wondering if the man was joking. "Let's just see how the first round goes before we make any judgments."

Tripp turned and walked away without further comment.

Horatio motioned for the officers to advance with Odobescu. Nodding to one officer, he asked him to stand outside of the room with an eye on what was going on inside. The second, he said, was to bring the man in and stand, ready to take any action necessary. In the room he dismissed the female officer inside saying he would call for her when they were ready.

Once the officer was standing at the door and the officer outside was ready, he glanced at the mirror window. Finally he turned to Leticia. "Now, please tell your father what you told me."

Leticia's dark eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry Papa, I'm sorry."

Odobescu's eyes grew wide. He turned to Horatio. "She lied. I did it, I killed those men."

"I never said what she had told me."

Turning back to his daughter, Odobescu lunged for the girl. "You lie! You know you lie! I killed those men!"

Though the officer and Horatio grabbed him, Leticia, seemed to be ready for what happened. She leapt up, knocking the chair out of the way and backed into the wall screaming, "No Papa, no! I won't let them put you in jail for me!" Sinking to the floor, she whispers over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

By this time, the other officer and Tripp were in the room. Between them, they put Odobescu into one of the chairs and took an extra set of handcuffs; put one around his wrist and the other in the loop on the table close to where he sat.

Horatio went around to Leticia and helped her rise. He put the chair against the wall with one officer by her side and the other officer standing by Odobescu's side.

"Why you lie child? You want to spend life in jail?"

"Let her speak please."

Leticia only stared down at her lap as her fingers interwove and parted, as she shook her head.

Horatio bent down and said quietly into her ear, "We need more proof than you saying so. Right now it's just your word against your father's. That isn't enough."

Still she shook her head in silence.

"Until you choose to give us more information, I'll have to return your father to holding while we look for proof one way or the other.

He looked at the mirror again and shook his own head slightly. Bending over again, he said, "Why not think about this? Ms. Madwell will take you to another safe place where you can clean up and get some sleep. We'll talk again tomorrow. How does that sound?"

The negative head shaking stopped. She sighed and then nodded.

Ms. Madwell appeared at the door immediately. Apparently she had already signaled the female officer. "We're going to be fine now. I'll see you tomorrow. I contacted a great couple who wants to meet her tonight." The smile wasn't as reassured as her words.

"Leticia," Horatio called.

The girl turned with an almost hopeful look.

"Please don't cause any problems, alright? I'll see you tomorrow."

The light of hope leaving her face, Leticia turned to walk obediently beside the court officer.

# # #

Alone in the hall now, Horatio pulled out his phone and punched at the number he had only recently added to the list. After connecting, the phone on the other end rang several times until the answering machine came on. After nearly swearing, he considered leaving a message and didn't. So much for the idea of dessert with Manon. It wasn't that late but the look on her face when he had told her he had to cancel dinner had said it all. She was too lovely a lady to sit around waiting. If she was at home, she had seen the number on the caller ID and refused to pick up, or more likely, she had gone out with a friend and was telling him or her about the red headed jerk. Twice the reminder in one night; should he take the hint?


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Mornings for Horatio always had more optimism than the evenings. He hoped it might be the same for Manon. Sipping on his coffee, he called her again. To his great relief she picked up.

"I'm sorry about last night."

"It happens. Remember, I am a forensic anthropologist. Sometimes I get called at odd hours to examine remains; perhaps not as often as you but it happens. This gave me a chance to go to bed early so I could get an early start on the grave site. I'm there now. The Tequesta Council wants to retrieve as many artifacts as possible. The Council wants to know the extent of the site and then give the final blessing to the burials. They also want to retrieve one of the old bodies for examination to be sure it is a Native American site. Once done they will display it as it was found in their museum."

Horatio noted that her rate of speech was slightly faster than normal, a possible indication that she was hiding something. Did she really go to bed early? He didn't quite understand the job of a forensic anthropologist, especially not one who worked in a museum. Then he scolded himself for always thinking like a cop. He didn't know her well enough to know if she was hiding anything or was on her fifth cup of coffee. In an effort to make up for the suspicions, he asked, "Want to take a chance on another dinner date?"

Disappointingly, she hesitated before accepting adding, "I don't know when though. Let me call you about that later, alright?"

He was really glad he was talking to her on the phone because he doubted he was hiding his disappointment. He only hoped his voice was better at it. "Good, I'll let you get back to work." He hung up. How did other people in law enforcement do it? They obviously did since many were married twice or even four times or more. That took a lot dating. He forgot his coffee and left it cooling on the kitchen counter as he departed for work.

# # #

"Calleigh, how are you this morning?"

"Oh, you know, I'm a morning person, like you." She knew him well enough to be able to say this. Although when she first arrived at the lab several years before she was a fresh graduate from the new idea of forensic studies, she had quickly caught on to the real world of crime, becoming Horatio's second in command of the slowly growing team. Changing the equivalent space of a broom closet to a functioning investigative unit, with a lab tech, the two solved cases that baffled the police detectives. Until Speed's arrival, she and Horatio worked like a well-oiled team who had known each other for years. Speed's arrival, curt as he seemed to be, increased the solve rate dramatically. The young man fit into the whole like he'd started at the beginning. Still, there was a special relationship that she never lost with Horatio.

"There was an interesting development last night."

"Do tell."

Horatio related all that had gone on from Letitia's confession to her father's attack and subsequent denial of her confession.

As usual, Calleigh listened attentively, playing out each detail in her mind. When he finished she blinked her blue-green eyes dramatically and said, "So it's he said/she said and we're no closer that we were before."'

Swinging his jacket back and putting his hands on his hips, Horatio nodded saying, "Yup."

"Well, look, why don't I talk with Letitia when she is brought in? Sometimes talking with a woman is easier especially for a teenage girl. There has to be a reason for the innocent one to take the blame besides familial protection."

"Good thought. Call me when you're done."

"Will do."

Further down the hall, Horatio saw Ryan entering his lab section. He found the latest team member about to go over the witness testimony again. Telling him about the latest development, he continued with, "Keeping that in mind, continue as if we are still looking for a different suspect in the Deeshawn case. If you find any clue that doesn't relate to that idea, put it aside under unknown."

"So, if I come up with is a dead end in family and friends' testimony, I can look at the extra clues in context to Letitia's confession." Ryan's eyes lit up with interest.

"Exactly."

"Okay, I'll do that." He looked around the counter spaces crowded with equipment, files, and boxes of evidence from other cases.

Outside the room, peering through the blinds from the darker hall, Horatio could see the ever meticulous Ryan looking around for the exact right space he would use to put the notes he would use as extra clues. As much as he had loved Speed, the young man's sloppiness, especially in relation to the care and cleaning of his pistol, was what had gotten him killed. Ryan might get killed for overthinking a situation but never for lack of gun care or any fussy arrangement of his surroundings.

Delko was in the evidence room with transparencies up on the light board. All were photos of Beeks' neck taken from different angles, different exposures and with different cameras to show the bruising.

"Hey H, I still can't figure out what made the mark. I used every photographic technique I could think of too. Problem is, even looking at the back of this guy's neck I see his face, Speed's face. Maybe I'm still trying to get the similarity out of my head."

"I can relate. He was family and the loss is still close in our minds. Maybe putting it in perspective of finding his killer again will help."

Delko shrugged and shook his head. "I'll give that a try. Ignoring it sure doesn't help. So far, all I see is a half-moon shaped indentation with a waffling on the inside. The black cotton thread is too generic to be of any help. The weapon was something that could break his neck but not kill him.

I had Calleigh come in a look too. Neither one of us can think up anything that would leave a mark like that."

"How about getting out of the lab and going back to interview the family again? It's possible we're missing a connection which isn't the dishes. I don't think Beeks would have been killed so close to home if it was because of whatever the dishes were about. From what I understand he never brought those near his residence. I want you to especially talk with the son. He may know more than he was willing to say in front of his mother."

"Should I get a search warrant?"

"Without knowing what we're looking for, I don't think that's a good idea. Wait until after the interview. We might get some ideas then."

"Do you think I should bring them in?"

"Only if necessary," came the whispered reply.

Delko pursed his expressive lips and nodded.

"While you're out there, please talk with the neighbors as well."

"And bring them in if necessary." Eric's lips went into a cockeyed grin.

Horatio's look fell to the floor as his hands went to his slender hips. He smiled.

"I'll see you later."

The trip might not be absolutely necessary but it would get Eric's head on straight. It was bad enough that everybody felt Speed's loss and were barely on the road to recovering, each in their own way. This was a real pothole.

Just as he was about to sigh, his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and was happy to see Manon's number.

"I hope Alexx is ready to look at at least one more body."

"At least?"

"We were looking in the area around the broken wall and found a recent burial. Ten to twenty years from the looks of it. From the lay of the land in the rest of the yard, I think there might be more."

"I'll send Alexx out with Ryan and the ground sonar."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Bidding farewell to Manon, Horatio speed dialed Alexx. At her pickup he said, "I hope you have another body bag or two."

Alexx' voice held dread, "Why?"

"Another one in the back yard. I'll meet you there with Ryan and the sonar machine."

"You think there's more?" The Medical Examiner's voice rose in alarm.

"At this time, nothing would surprise me."

The disgust of her "Huh!" was plain.

At the site, Manon's head sported a bandana to keep the drips of perspiration from her eyes. Her nose sparkled with the wet shine. Still, her face smiled as she welcomed the CSIs to her domain of the moment. "I am glad to see you all." Her eyes were riveted to Horatio as his were to her."

Realizing what the business was about, she brought Alexx to a recently excavated grave site near the wall. The body, not quite uncovered, was still plain to see. "We thought the earth was too recently disturbed and yet it wasn't nearly as new as the ones closer to the house. In digging we found this." She reached down and held up a metal object that looked like a cross. "This is a patriarchal cross of the type that is popular in Serbia. I think the home owner might have put it here for some reason."

Horatio shook his head ever so slightly as he considered what this could mean.

Alexx was all business. "Could you possibly get one of your men to help us dig about a foot wider around the perimeter of the body? I'll need the space to get as much of the dirt around the body as I can so when we get it dirt and all back to the lab, I can look for evidence."

Manon waived to some of her crew occupied in digging elsewhere outside the wall. "We also have to pull bodies with the surrounding dirt only our excavations are usually considerably older."

Alexx smiled briefly, "And without that new body smell I hope."

"From what you can tell so far, Manon, how long ago would you say this body was buried?" Horatio asked the question for Alexx' benefit.

Taking another look at what she could see of the remains, the depth and then the condition of the cross, she shook her head. "It is hard to say but as a guess, no more than twenty years, no less than twelve."

"Thank you." Turning around, he noticed that Dr. Hawk's Claw had already noticed Ryan with the sonar and was talking with him. Walking up to them he shook hands with the bone archeologist in greeting.

"The other day, we finished most of the immediate yard area here. Finding the body by the back wall was a great surprise. I suggest we finish a sweep in between the two areas." He held a fistful of brightly colored flags on stiff wires. "We'll mark anything we find with these."

Horatio nodded. "Good, I'll let you get to it."

Manon seemed to have finished her conversation with Alexx who was now at her van donning coveralls and gloves, and strapping on a tool belt which held brushes, trowels and small picks.

Manon was giving instructions to two men with shovels. When she seemed finished, she looked over at him.

He shyly looked away but didn't move. As he hoped she walked to him and stood with a questioning look.

"So," he started slowly, "about last night, I apologize again."

"Does this happen often with women who go to a great deal of trouble to get ready for a date with you?"

Before he had a chance to think he retorted gently, "When it's called off, do you go to bed so quickly even though ready for the date? You make it sound like I was planning for the call; perhaps you would have called the evening short knowing you had to get up early?"

Manon looked puzzled for moment and then bit her lips like she was hiding a smile.

Catching on, Horatio took a half a step back and also broke into a grin as he looked up through his eyebrows at her.

Gaily she said, "I think we just had our first fight."

"And came through it alright?" he asked.

She held her arms out where her sleeves were half rolled up and examined them. "No bruises here. I think I am in one piece. You?"

He playfully held a couple of fingers to one eye as if feeling for swelling. "I think I'll live. And we have known each other how long now?"

Putting a finger to one cheek, her elbow balanced on an arm across her waist she appeared to consider. Three days I believe. I think our future is bright."

"If we survive these battles."

They both chuckled.

"Excuse me a moment." Horatio reached for the softly buzzing phone in his pocket. "Yes, Eric?"

"I have news, H. I went to Beeks' home to see what more information I could get from Junior and Ms. Beeks. By sheer chance, Junior had just returned from Martial Arts practice wearing a black cotton uniform and canvas top shoes with hard leather edging. I had a photo of the mark on Lieutenant Commander Beeks neck on my phone and it looked like they matched. I asked him about the clothing and he wore it for the school team practice and their meets as well as at Zambreckski's place."

"Did you ask him if he wore it the night of his father's death?"

"Sure but before he could answer, Ms. Beeks turned into Mamma Bear Beeks pulling her cub to her chest and telling him to be quiet."

"Where are you now?"

"I'm outside so I could talk in peace. Calleigh is taking charge inside. When I suggested they come to the lab to talk there was another uproar."

"Bring them in for questioning, objections or not. Get Tripp to get a search warrant for the house and the back area near the water as well. I think you may have broken the case."

Eric's voice echoed his elation, "You think so H?"

"I do but remember, just thinking it's so and letting the evidence speak for itself are two different things."

"I haven't said a thing to Junior about the clothing. I'll just tell them we have to question them at the lab and then take his clothes for examination. He'll love the orange jumpsuit."

"Just plan on returning his clothes in case you're wrong, Eric."

"I know." The joy in his voice had died into reality.

"Also, while you're out there, bring in the neighbors who practiced the martial arts with Beeks, Soza and Zambreckski."

"Will do."

Horatio returned his phone into his jacket pocket and walked back to Manon who was surveying the activity in the yard. His lips held a sheepish grin.

"Work again?" There was no rancor in her voice now.

"Indeed."

"At least we're not on a date," she said with a twinkle in her eyes. Then she continued in a slightly more serious vein,

"How often do you get interrupted on a date as we were last night?"

"Once I was. The place was a building site with a tight schedule. They called me at one in the morning. The night shift was about to pour a cement slab when someone noticed the jawbone of a skull. I was required to come out with a full team of diggers and get as much as the skeleton out as time would allow. They had a truck of cement that was ready to set and so we had only two hours to work in. Oh, la, la, the date was really getting going nicely at that time too."

"Did you get the skeleton?"

"All except for four distal phalanges of the left foot, two distal, middle and proximal phalanges of the right hand and a knee bone."

"That sounds nearly complete."

"For the amount of time we had to work in, yes. We think the rest was scattered in smoothing out the area in preparation for the slab."

"Did you ever find out who he was?"

"She and no. The body had been buried for about seventy-five years. She had been stabbed and buried in a shallow grave in an area that was probably in the outskirts of Miami at the time. We think she might have been the victim of domestic abuse."

"But this isn't your regular line of work."

"Ah, mais non! I think perhaps four or five times in a year. Even a dig like this is rare. Most usually I am in the museum scraping detritus from very old bones and older tools of stone."

"Not from around here."

"This area seldom lends itself to preservation because of the high water table. No, I get ancient bones from sites such as Columbia or southern Mexico, even Egypt or cave sites in middle Europe. Once the bones are clean or at least exposed so viewers can see how they were placed in the ground, we set up dioramas to show how the people of the area lived and died."

While they talked, they watched Ryan pace the ground with Dr. Hawk's Claw. Every once in a while Ryan paused and he and the Doctor conferred then one of two colors of flags were layed out to outline the remains under the ground. By late afternoon, Ryan told Horatio and Manon that the red flags were the recent burials and the green ones were the ancient remains. There five sets of red flags and fifteen sets of green ones.

With the afternoon soon heading to the horizon, and the archeological team already putting up lights to get ready for a long night, Horatio agreed to allow Manon's team to keep the radar machine. After everyone signed the necessary paperwork for the loan, Horatio and Ryan headed back to the lab.

# # #

When the elevator doors opened, Horatio was met with an onslaught of noise and commotion. On one side Ms. Beeks was being held by her ample arms between two female officers as she shouted and struggled. On the other side of a pane of glass, inside an interview room, Junior Beeks, now dressed in an orange jump suit was pounding and shouting something in the direction of his mother.

On the other side of the interview section of the lab, both Soza and Zambreckski were asking about why they were being held in loud voices, each seeming to try to outshout the other.

Eric, seeing the flash of the pale face and the blond red hair, showed obvious relief at seeing rescue from a situation that resembled trying to hold on to an angry octopus.

Taking charge, Horatio instructed the women in uniform to take Ms. Beeks to an interview room that was out of sight of her son. Then he motioned to two men to take Soza and Zambreckski each to a separate interview room.

As the noise lowered notch by notch as each door was closed behind each occupant and Eric opened the door to the room that Junior occupied and told him to sit down and be quiet, everyone sighed in relief. The lab crew stopped jittering and clinking their test tubes, the officers' eyes stopped roving to spot where trouble might break out.

"Thanks, H, you came just in time."

"No worries. We learn as we go along," Horatio said gently. He remembered how many times he had been rescued by superior officers from freaked out subjects brought in for questioning when he was still in uniform. "Now, what have you got?"

"Tripp is tossing the house now with Calleigh. I just got here with these people about ten minutes ago. It took me a while because when I told her we were going to take them in to the lab for questioning she went into a faint on that couch in the living room," his face turned sour when he said that, "and then Junior went ballistic and tried to attack me. Two officers pulled him off and got him into a patrol car while two female officers and a man got helpless mama into another car. When I got here the situation was somewhat reversed with Mama Bear trying to get to her cub and him bleating for help."

He turned to the direction in which the two neighbors had been taken. "Then, the neighbors seemed willing enough to come down and throw in their two cents worth but the hubbub from Ms. Bear and cub seemed to set them off."

"Or they might have conferred on the way down Eric and decided being questioned was unnecessary to our investigation."

"We didn't have enough cars to bring them separately."

"Again, no worries. We'll never know what set them off and it doesn't matter. Who has the clothing?"

"Sam has it. He'll examine it all for any blood traces, compare the fiber we have with the clothing and the shoes and then the mark on his neck with the curves of the shoe sole."

"Lieutenant Caine?"

Horatio turned to the blond neatly coiffed female officer who was on day watch at the lab's front desk. "Yes?"

"Mr. Yoet Odobescu who is in holding is calling on line one. His daughter, Letitia, is on line two from a Child Protective Services facility. They demand to speak to you."

Looking over her shoulder, he answered, "I'll be there momentarily."

When the officer's place was vacated, she was replace by Calleigh.

"I thought you were at the Beeks' home."

"Tripp has it well in hand with several of the lab people with him. They know how to handle anything the officers come up with so I thought I'd head back here to home." She flashed a grin.

Eric's face went crooked as he half grinned. "Welcome to chaos."

Horatio tossed his coat back and placed his hands on his hips as he did when making a decision, he began, "Calleigh, Mr. Odobescu and Letitia are both demanding to see me. I think they want their American justice. Why not go downstairs to holding, get Letitia on the phone and hold a conference to see what you can do to calm the waters. Six more recent burials, including one that is between twelve and twenty years old, have been found so far. They are being brought in for examination. The older one was apparently marked with a cross in the style popular in the Serbian area."

"That should get some interesting reactions." Calleigh wheeled around and headed for the elevator.

"Eric, I'll take Mr. Souza and you take Mr. Zambreckski and we'll see what they thought of Lieutenant Commander Beeks."

Just at that moment, Ryan approached the pair having changed clothing after walking the yard with the machine for a good part of the day. "What can I do?"

"Why not go help Sam with analyzing the clothing Junior was wearing?"

Eric added, "I suspect that it has been washed once or twice since the night of the murder so blood might be hard to come by."

"Let's just hope she didn't use bleach."

Eric replied, "The black looks pristine so I doubt it."

Watching Ryan leave, Horatio reminded Eric, "Let's not waste any more than fifteen minutes on the neighbors. I just want a general idea of what they thought of Beeks."

"I'll meet you here in fifteen."

The time passed for both men very quickly. Neither looked like they had broken a sweat in their conversations with the neighbors.

"All I got was that Zambreckski didn't think Beeks was worth the time to waste much thought. He did say he felt sorry for Junior since Beeks took all of the kid's accomplishments as being due to his training. Then he added that it was more like constantly riding the boy. On the other hand he would knock him every chance he got, and then take any helpful criticisms others tried to give the kid and blow it into burning disapproval. He didn't like it but then he shrugged like he'd seen worse. I guess in the Marines he probably had."

"I got a slightly stronger feeling from Souza but only marginally. He thought Beeks was a jerk who thought too well of himself."

"So, let them go?"

"I think so. I don't get any kind idea either one had sufficient reason for enough animosity to bother to kill him and then dispose of the body."

"After that, shall we go tandem on Junior?"

"Let's see what Sam and Ryan have on the clothing first."

The two men, Detective Wolfe and the lab assistant, Sam Belmontes, were on either side of the table, each with a piece of clothing. Ryan was using several clay models of the back of a human neck with a plaster mold of the shoe, imprinting a part of the shoe and then checking it with a life size photo of the victim's wound. Sam was using a spray slightly more powerful than luminol which was best used for undiluted blood.

"Anything gentlemen?"

"I'm still trying to find just the right angle where the edge of the shoe hit. I'm sure it's this shoe but without an exact match, it'll never fly in court."

"Can you wait a moment Ryan? I want to turn down the lights." Sam's Latin background was reflected in his melodic accent. He turned the lights off around the table and stood with his back to the hall lights. He picked up an ultraviolet lamp and held it close to the bottom of the pant leg. "See there? I think it is blood. It is only a drop but still enough if it hasn't been diluted by too many washings." There was only the vaguest hint of a smudge glowing against the dark material. He turned the lights up again.

Eric showed an evil grin. "Junior isn't going to like you cutting a hole in his precious costume."

Sam grinned back. "Let's hope it doesn't backfire on us."

# # #

Horatio and Eric entered the glass paneled room where Junior was being held. He had only been there for about twenty-five minutes but he was as fidgety as if it had been several hours. He rose angrily as the two CSIs entered.

Horatio decided to be direct as possible to start out with. "According to the neighbors, you didn't get along with your father."

"That…that's crazy talk! I loved my dad. He was a Navy pilot!"

"What about him taking all of the credit for your Martial Arts wins? What about him double timing anyone who criticized something you did? Didn't he ride you pretty hard?"

"Well, sure but he did it so I'd be better."

"Why are you shouting? Who are you trying to convince?"

"We've got proof that you kicked your dad in the back of the neck," Eric chimed in. "Why would you do that if you loved him?"

Junior sat down heavily in the chair and dropped his face into his hands.

"We also found a drop of blood on your Martial Arts uniform. If we match it to your dad's DNA, that's more proof."

Even though both remarks were as yet not true, the fact that Junior wasn't denying them told them all they needed to know.

Gently Horatio asked, "Why son? If you were mad at him, why not just have it out in words?"

Raising his face wet with tears the lad declares, "Oh God! It all happened so fast. Dad rode me the other night all through practice at Zambreckski's. When we were coming back from his house, Dad said something, I don't even remember what but I just lost it. He was walking ahead of me a little I guess and I just did a roundhouse kick and hit him in the back of the head. He fell like a rock. Jeez, I thought I'd killed him! I picked him up in a fireman's carry and took him to the pier in the back of the house, and for some reason I took off his clothes and threw him in. I stuffed the clothes in the skiff we have docked at the pier. I guess I planned to toss them later or something, I don't know. Then I went to the house so I could think. It turned out that Mom had seen me. At first she acted all mad at me and said I had to fish him out of the water and to call the police. Then she changed her mind, like she always does and she said what's done is done. Then she called my grandparents, that's her mother and father. They came the next morning and started cleaning out the garage and the house like they knew he was dead already. She was giving them all of the stuff she got for wedding presents and only used for special occasions when the people from the Navy showed up to tell her about finding Dad in the canal. That was when she acted all faint and lay down on the couch like it was a big shock. Nobody seemed to notice that Gramps and Gramma didn't stop what they were doing. She should have said something instead of putting on that big act." His voice becomes steadier and more sure as he speaks until in the end, his anger has turned from his father to his mother.

Horatio made sure the boy finished speaking, finished blaming and then with his eyes flashed blue bolts of lightning, as he growled, "Now, here's the rest of the story; your father was still alive when he hit the water. You had hit him in the area of the spine that controls breathing. He still had minor control of his arms. As he struggled in the water that caused his chest to expand and this drew water into his throat. He died suffocating from the water in his mouth and throat. That's like suffocating on a gag in your mouth, not from water in the lungs which is what drowning is. If you hadn't thrown him into the water, had called for an ambulance, your father might be alive now."

"What? I didn't know! How could I have known? Mom didn't say to get him out. I was so mad, I couldn't help myself!"

Ignoring the young man's words, Horatio laid paper and pen in front of him and told him to write out what he had done and why. When that was done Eric yanked him to his feet and motioned the officer on guard at the door to come in and handcuff him starting the rhetoric, "You have the right to remain silent…"

Going to the room where Ms. Beeks was being kept, the men didn't bother to do much more than ask her about what she knew about the dish delivery to the air station where her husband reported every week. After giving a convincing story of innocence about it, they informed her of what they knew about her son injuring her husband and then what he had told them about her participation in Beeks' subsequent death because he had not been pulled from the water. After a moment of silence, she denied any blame, saying her son had said nothing to her except that her husband had gone for a walk. This time it was Eric who leaned into her face and described what it must have been like for her husband to choke as he struggled feebly with what little arm motion he had. She shrank back only to find his anger following her, hovering over her. At first she tried to faint, laying her face on her arms only to hear the rustle of paper and the soft clack of a plastic pen being put on the table and Eric's voice telling her to write the details of her confession. Raising her face up, she sighed and looked pitifully at Horatio but found only silent disgust in return. After putting her writing out to them they put her under arrest for being an accessory to the murder.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Though still early evening, Horatio felt exhausted as he usually did after pulling a confession out of a murderer. Getting two from Ms. Beeks and son had him ready for bed. Thinking to call Frank to see what he had come up with, tell him what they had gotten and perhaps help him wrap up the scene early, his phone softly purred in his pocket. It turned out to be Hubbell from the warehouse calling to say another crate addressed to Beeks had been delivered from Asia. After he inquired how late Hubbell could keep the warehouse open he said he could get someone to pick it up within the hour. Closing his phone, he turned to Eric to say, "Take a van from the motor pool and go to the warehouse. There's another crate marked for Beeks that's been delivered. Bring it back here and let's see what the dishes are about."

"Will do H. Anything else?"

Horatio's pocket buzzed again. Before he picked up he answered, "Please call Tripp and see what he's come up then tell him what we got. I doubt there will be anything outside. That storm probably washed away any evidence after Junior killed his father but we can get the bundle of clothing if Frank didn't get it already. He might as well finish the scene for tonight if he thinks he can."

"Sure. I'll be back as soon as I can. If the crate is big enough for a van, I'll drop it down in the garage where we can look at the contents there."

Without reply, Horatio opened his phone. "Calleigh, I'm sorry to take so long. Did you get anything from father and daughter?"

"I think they might be ready to talk. I mentioned the cross and both of them went quiet. Mr. Odobescu looked like he'd seen a ghost. I have a feeling that body is the key to the whole thing."

"Bring them up and place them in separate rooms." His phone beeped indicated a second call coming in. "I seem to be the center of a whirlwind at the moment so I'll get to Mr. Odobescu as soon as I can while you talk with Letitia."

"I thought you'd say that so she's on her way here now."

"Good." Without saying good-bye, Horatio hit the call waiting button. He smiled at Manon's voice, walking to look out a window where his pleasure wouldn't be witnessed. "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if Alexx would mind having company while she examines the bodies and the skeletons. I am always curious about how others work."

"Hold on a minute and let me call the morgue; I wouldn't want to speak for her." A moment later when Alexx picked up, he bluntly asked if she would mind Manon's presence.

"Just warn her, I'm up to my ass in bodies here so anyone fool enough to come into this mess will be put to work." Alexx didn't sound overjoyed at her situation but then death never pleased her in spite of her profession.

Switching over he informed the Cajun woman, "If you don't mind donning latex gloves and being shown how to write out reports at the least, she'll be glad to put you to work."

The sound of gay laughter giggled through the phone. "That is more than I could hope for. My team and Dr. Hawks' Claw have everything well in hand here so I will be there soon. How do I get to the morgue?"

"Call me when you park out in front. I'll meet you at the front door and escort you down there." Whatever weariness had plagued Horatio before was now gone, replaced by the pleased expectation of seeing this woman who seemed to become more appealing with each conversation. The pleasure was broken however when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mr. Odobescu being escorted from the elevator to an interview room. The man caught sight of him as he walked and gave him the evil eye.

Waiting for the man to be situated and handcuffed to the table, he went to the one way mirror and began to survey his next interviewee to get an idea of how to approach him. Sometime later, lost in his thoughts, his phone alerted him to a call. He stepped down the hall to answer it and was surprised to hear Manon's voice.

"You sound surprised I am here so fast. I decided to fly."

Her infectious giggle made him smile again as he punched the elevator button for the first floor. "You must know some roads without stoplights that I don't know about. You'll have to tell me about them. I'll be right down." He hung up to stop himself from smiling so the men in the MDPD unit wouldn't stare at the usually sober redhead; at least not until they saw who he would be escorting to the morgue. They did smile but not for long since the elevator down to the morgue from that floor was only a few feet from the double glass entry doors.

Once the elevator doors were closed, Horatio allowed himself to smile again. To regain his composure a little he asked how the dig was going.

The ride was only one level so the doors opened almost as quickly as they had closed.

"It is going well," she answered as they walked down the cool corridor.

As they entered the near freezing morgue, the odor of moldering bones in varying states of decay assaulted their noses.

Alexx looked up with a gaze that said 'don't say I didn't warn you.'

Manon returned her look and said, "Where do I find a lab coat or should I have brought my own?"

Alexx' face relaxed into a broad smile as she said, "Don't think you can get out of helping me that easily." She turned to a drawer and pulled out a paper gown and from another drawer she pulled out a box of gloves. "First we'll do one together and you'll fill out the paperwork as I show you the process. After that you'll be on your own."

Knowing where he was no longer of any use, Horatio quietly left the two women to their strange form of enjoying themselves.

No sooner had he stepped into the lab expecting to spend more time at the one way mirror than Calleigh approached him to say Letitia had arrived and she wanted to know if he had any ideas about any special approach. She was well aware of his special rapport with young people.

"Although her father is a better candidate for the bodies, I think she is strongly associated with them. After all, she did freely confess to killing Deeshawn. We haven't found anyone more likely either so, for the moment, we'll take her word for it. If this is the case, she seems to know how to fire a gun. You might start from there and see where that leads."

As Calleigh was nodding putting a line of questioning together in her head, the elevator door opened to show Maven Lorento in company of a uni who seemed to be trying to convince her to go no further.

'Speak of the devil,' thought Horatio. Nodding to the officer, he greeted Deeshawn's aunt, "Ms. Lorento, what can I do for you?"

"You can save me from whoever is trying to get me!" Suddenly she flung herself onto the Lieutenant in a hug similar to what he had endured in her home before.

He was grateful that both the officer and Calleigh were on hand to release her over-zealously hugging arms. "Excuse me?"

"Whoever shot Deeshawn is after me now, I know it."

"How do you know?"

"I just know. Oh Mr. Lieutenant sir, won't you help me?"

"Actually ma'am, that isn't what I do. I investigate evidence left by criminal activity after it has been committed. I'll tell you what though, if you're worried about your safety, go down stairs with this officer and file a report. I'll see to it that a patrol car regularly goes by your home. If they see anything suspicious, they'll report it to me and I'll take care of it."

"Really? You can't come out and look now?"

Horatio tilted his head nearly to his right shoulder and let a slight twinkle play in his eyes. "I'm afraid I'll get reported for doing other people's work if I do that. You let the police officers do some of the work and if they need me then they will call."

Slowly, gently, the officer and Calleigh coaxed the woman to the elevator. As they waited for the doors to open Ms. Lorento looked longingly over her shoulder. When the two had the aunt safely inside, Calleigh stepped out and blocked the doors until they were fully closed and she could hear the machinery taking the adoring woman down from the third level.

Horatio waved as the doors closed after which he became aware of muted guffaws and laughter throughout the lab and knew he was blushing again.

Calleigh made no effort to show that she had been highly entertained by the scene. "I do believe you have an admirer Horatio. I noticed you didn't give her your card."

"I gave her one last week," he whispered.

"I guess she lost it," Calleigh said as she turned away and walked down the hall, her long blond hair bouncing with each step.

The elevator doors opened again and Horatio took a breath, ready for another plea for help only to see Eric carrying a small wooden box about eighteen inches square."

"What's this, Eric?"

"Believe it or not, it's the dishes. From what Hubbell said this is the same size as always."

On consideration, Horatio nodded. "Considering there isn't all that much space in a small plane, I guess it makes sense. Okay, let's take a look."

Eric toted the box to his lab area and laid it with a loud clunk on the counter. Then he rummaged through some drawers until he came up with a small crowbar and went to work prying the top off. When the last creak of nails sounded he took the wood top and laid it onto another counter and moved the box to one side so he could have room to lay out the contents. Wasting no movements, he lifted out excelsior and then found some bright red plates about eight inches across. The rest of the space around them was taken up with excelsior and newspaper with what looked to be Korean writing in between each plate. He went through the excelsior twice to be sure there was nothing else in the slender wood shavings before tossing it into the wastebasket. Then he examined the paper on the light table for any invisible writing and put it through a couple of chemical tests to see if it contained anything but paper. It did not. Finally, looking at his boss, he picked up a hammer, donned protective goggles and asked, "Shall we?"

Throwing the skirt of his jacket back as he took a step backwards and put on his sun glasses and said, "We shall."

The shattering sound seemed to give Eric a great deal of satisfaction.

At first glance the insides of the shards seemed to be nothing more than pottery.

Removing his glasses, Horatio said, "I have to interview Mr. Odobescu, Eric. I'd like you to do a full run on these plates. Something tells me there is more to them than meets the eye."

"I got it H."

# # #

"Mr. Odobescu, what can you tell me about the body near the back wall?

"What body? I don't know what you mean," the man answered gruffly but without conviction.

"I mean the man who was buried somewhere around twelve years ago. The man you thought well enough of that you placed a cross on the grave. The man who was shot."

"So, I admit to shooting more people. So what? Three or a hundred three, I still get death shot in arm. Yes?"

"No, I don't think you killed all of the people buried. In fact, it's even possible you didn't even shoot this one. Is it possible that this man was visiting? The cross would indicate a close relationship. Maybe Letitia found your collection of guns. Maybe the gun was loaded and the gun went off in her hand, killing the man. It could have been an accident."

The man sat silent sagging slightly in his chair.

"That can have a devastating effect on a child. To live with the grave of the man she shot in the back yard year after year."

"He—he died of a sickness. He was my son who came to visit me from old country. He wanted me to help him to live here. He wasn't used to American foods so he got sick. I wanted him close to me so I put him near wall."

Horatio excused himself, stepped outside and called the morgue. "Alexx, have you had a chance to look at the oldest body yet?"

He heard a rich voiced chuckle and then Alexx talking to what he supposed was Manon. "Did I tell you he had second sight? He's asking about the body we just finished." There was a pause and the sound of words he couldn't quite get. "Yes, now. Anyway, Horatio, yes, we just got through."

"How did he die?"

"Gun shot through the chest. Probably hit the heart straight on."

"Not disease?"

"No way. He was a young man and healthy as a race horse."

"Could you do a DNA against Mr. Odobescu and Letitia?"

"Sure. There's some tissue left on the bones so that won't be a problem. It's possible that there is some relation. Manon found various signs of evidence in the bones and the teeth resembling what she has seen in other bones found in the middle European area."

"So Mr. Odobescu says but he also says the man died of a disease. I want to know how close the relationship was."

"I'll send the tissue up to Maxine and tell her to shoot the results to you as soon as she has it."

"I would appreciate it, thank you. How are you and Manon getting along?"

"I'm teaching her the fun of paperwork and learning a few tricks in osteology I never knew existed." She sounded very pleased.

"Good. I'll try to be down later." Congratulating himself for having resisted asking to talk to Manon, Horatio hung up.

"Mr. Odobescu, if the body is that of your son as you say, he did not die of disease. He was shot through the heart so let's try this again."

The hazel green eyes wandered the walls and floor which was a sure sign that he was searching for another lie.

"If you didn't shoot him, who did? Why didn't you call the police? Why did you bury him? This was the beginning of a series of murders that came later. Why?" Although his voice was calm and quiet, he shot the questions at Letitia's father one after the other.

Still the man sank deeper into himself with each inquiry. Finally he began silently shaking his head.

"I need answers sir. Your silence makes me think you are guilty or protecting someone. Who besides Letitia do you have to protect? She says she shot her schoolmate, Deeshawn so she could win the math competition to get the money. If that is so, then she knows how to handle a gun. She also said she shot the first two men we found. If that is so, and the others were killed by gunshot, then she could be responsible for all of the murders. Are you trying to protect your daughter? I can understand if you are. You would rather go to jail than see her locked up. If she committed the murders, she needs help at this age. She isn't responsible for what she did at this age."

Seeing no response, Horatio rose. "You think about this for a while." He walked into the hall and heaved a light sigh. Maybe the father didn't know for sure. Maybe he preferred to believe the tall tales his daughter spun. Would he believe his child? He knew he would want to but he also knew that children learned to lie almost as soon as they learned to talk. Where did you learn how to distinguish truths from half-truths (Speed declaring he would use the gun cleaning kit) from outright lies? He sure didn't know the answer if there was one.

"Horatio? They just brought Letitia in. Did you learn anything from her father?" Even in high heels, Calleigh had to look up to Horatio.

"Only that the oldest body is supposedly his son. Manon came in to give Alexx a hand and they finished that one first. He was shot through the heart. Alexx is sending some tissue to Maxine for DNA against Mr. Odobescu. Manon does think that the man came from the same area as Mr. Odobescu and Letitia so a relationship is possible."

"Any theories?"

"Only that if Mr. Odobescu did shoot the man, Letitia probably saw it happen. Who knows what that did to her?"

"I'll start by asking her what the cross means. Maybe she'll feel safe to open up on that angle."

"H?" Eric came up.

Calleigh wheeled around throwing a wave over her shoulder.

"Yes, Eric?"

"I ran a test on the shards. It's a mix of cocaine, cornstarch, and baking soda. The red is cornstarch with red food coloring. When that dries it has a shine to it. That washes off easily. Then all they have to do is dissolve the dishes, pour the mix into beakers, put those in a drying oven and the cocaine crawls up the sides in crystal form while the cornstarch and baking soda fall to the bottom in a powder form.

"They scrape off the cocaine, refine it by the same process and then dissolve the powder to get the rest of the cocaine out. It's a simple process if time consuming."

"So he took the dishes to the ships and the crew was sailing in more ways than one."

"I'll bet."

"Why not go down to holding and asks Ms. Beeks again about what she knew of her husband's extracurricular activities? If Junior is a branch from the tree, the Mama might be more than happy to throw her husband under the bus."

Eric leered at the thought. "I'll take a plate down in an evidence bag. That could jog her memory."

"Take Tripp with you. He should be glad to get away from the paperwork from the Beeks' home."

"And not so glad to have more paperwork if she confesses to cocaine use."

"If he complains ask him to see me." Horatio's smile was more of a smirk this time. "I'll be behind the mirror watching Calleigh interview Letitia."

As expected, Letitia was slightly more forthcoming with Calleigh. She didn't slouch or become sullen though her answers were hesitant and considered. She also seemed to believe what Calleigh was saying. For that matter, if he didn't know better, even he would have believed they were sure the girl had shot the buried men.

"You see, we can trace the trajectory of the bullet through the bodies. We could see how it changed as you grew."

True enough if there was any tissue to trace the bullet through. The two most recent victims had soft tissue but did not show any noticeable reflection of Letitia's predicted growth rate.

Letitia's eyes narrowed and darted from side to side as if calculating something and her lips pressed together to keep herself from saying anything.

Horatio's thoughts were so involved in what would happen to the girl if she was proven guilty, the phone purred quietly three times before he noticed.

Alexx' voice was troubled. "Horatio, it seems Manon has another talent. She is something of a reconstruction artist. She did a sketch of the skull from the oldest victim. I think you might want to see it."

"I'll be right down."

A few minutes later he was staring at a rough sketch of a man that looked familiar. "You only saw Mr. Odobescu or Letitia very briefly in his back yard, right?"

"To say the truth, I did not even really notice him, Horatio. I had my mind on the dig at the time."

"Well, DNA will confirm what this seems to indicate. Do you mind if I take this?"

Manon smiled as her eyes twinkled with a bit of wicked light. "To hang in your office, maybe?"

Horatio smiled back but not with as much humor. "Not quite. Thank you for your work."

Alexx stopped him. "There is one other thing you need to know. I'm pretty sure the path of the bullet was from a distance of about six feet from near the ground and then upwards between his mandible and on through to the top of his head."

"Interesting. Thank you Alexx."

He headed back upstairs with the sheet rolled up.

# # #

First checking on the progress of the interview through the glass and finding it seemed to have hit a stalemate, Horatio entered as unobtrusively as possible. He didn't want to alarm Letitia just yet.

Calleigh rose to her feet with obvious relief to get a break. Leaning against the wall, she eyed the roll of paper Horatio was carrying.

Seating himself opposite Letitia, he unrolled the paper and laid it in front of the dark haired girl. "Do you recognize this man?"

The teen's whole demeanor changed as she gazed at the pencil drawing. Her pupils widened, her head drooped to one side and her eyebrows rose up and tried to meet. This only lasted a moment but wasn't missed by the two CSIs. Then she realized what she was doing and her face hardened and she shook her head resolutely and said a firm, "No."

"We're comparing some DNA we were able to salvage from the body under the cross with yours and your father's. We think it's going to match in some way. The person who drew this picture was unaware of any possible connection to you or the body so how do you think the resemblance is so clear?"

Letitia drew her head back saying, "I don't know," in a girlish voice. "Maybe I just look like people."

"We think there might be some family connection."

"Maybe so, I don't know. You keep saying the person was buried a long time ago. Maybe it was before I came to America. I was only three then, you know."

"Do you remember coming to live with your Dad?"

"Yeah. I didn't know him at first but then I did."

"So you remember things as far back as when you were three. That is unusual."

"Not for a genius I.Q. with eidetic memory," she said proudly.

"Excuse me Letitia." His phone had once again notified him of an incoming call. He stepped into the hall to talk to Maxine.

"Horatio, I just got through with the DNA from the victim and your two suspects. The victim is Mr. Odobescu's son and Letitia's brother"

"Thank you Maxine." He closed his phone and stepped back into the room. Sitting down again, he said, "Letitia, who shot your brother?"

Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated. She made a move as if to run. Seeing the path was blocked by Calleigh, she shrank back into her chair, dropped her chin to her chest, shoved her arms into her blouse sleeves and began scuffling her feet nervously.

"I imagine it was scary. Did you see it?"

Slowly she began to rock back and forth. At first, her whispers were unintelligible but after a bit, the words, "I want my Daddy," could be heard over and over.

"Well, maybe we can see about that later. Right now, let's talk about you shooting Deeshawn." He found that changing the subject often brought unexpected information.

Again Letitia's eyes widened as her pupils dilated. "I didn't."

"Did you know we can get prints from almost any surface? The question isn't whether you shot Deeshawn but why?"

Suddenly Letitia jumped to her feet screaming, "I told you before, I did it! I shot that smarty pants! I wanted to win that contest, I wanted to get that money, I wanted to show I was the smart one from my school!"

After enduring the excruciatingly loud rant without change of expression Horatio said quietly, "Sit down, Letitia. Unfortunately wanting to be the best or to get the prize isn't an excuse for killing someone."

She went back to her pose of withdrawal and whispered that she wanted her father.

Horatio looked up at Calleigh and nodded. In response she slipped out the door. A few minutes later, accompanied by a uniformed officer, she brought Mr. Odobescu into the room. As soon as he saw the state his daughter was in, he ran to her and fell to his knees beside her telling her he was there and she was alright.

In as few words as possible, Horatio told the father what they had found out and how Letitia had reacted. "Do you have an explanation for her behavior? She killed young Deeshawn and we are fairly certain one of you killed your son. We would like to know why we should believe it was you who did it."

Mr. Odobescu rose to his feet. "I think now this is all my fault. Letitia, she didn't know what she was doing when she was a tiny girl. Somehow, she got my gun, one I always kept loaded by my bed in case of someone who comes in to rob us. Back then I was always afraid. I don't know why she got gun. All I know is when I come home she was sitting by Iosif who was on the floor dead. He had blood from his head and his neck. She was trying to wake him up and saying she was sorry she had played with the gun. She said she just wanted to show him Papa's gun and she dropped it and then he went to sleep." He looked tearfully at Horatio. "I only wanted to protect my little girl. Iosif was dead and there was nothing I could do for him. So I took him out to the back yard and I buried him with the cross he had brought from the old country as a gift. I made a nice burial, I wrapped him in a good carpet and I prayed to God to take him with kindness. All that time Letitia just watched with her eyes big. Then it happened again only with a strange man I don't know. After a while, I come to know it will happen again and again. She was not the same after that."

"I would think not. What about the other men?"

Mr. Odobescu looked for a chair and sank heavily into one offered by Calleigh. "Each time, I come home from work and find a dead man only out in the yard someplace. I ask why and she say he was a bad man who tried to hurt her. I didn't know what else to do. I wanted to bury them far out in back but the first time I dig deep, I dig up bones! Our home was already a home for dead people! So, I bury these men closer. For some reason, Letitia seemed to like playing in the piles of dirt."

Letitia sat quietly except for shuffling her feet back and forth in an endless, mindless rhythm. Her father moved his chair close to hers and she put an arm through one of his and leaned her head against him. He began to croon a wordless tune which seemed too comfort her. The look on her face was too sad and lost for a child her age.

Calleigh and Horatio stepped outside to look at them through one of the windows.

"Which comes first do you think, the bent towards sociopathic behavior or the incident that turns a person into a sociopath?"

"I think that's still in debate. I have heard arguments on both sides. If Letitia accidentally killed her brother, perhaps by dropping the gun which made it go off, then watching her father put the brother in the ground, that would certainly color her outlook. Since we don't know about the mother or the pregnancy, we may never know."

Manon exited the elevator and walked down the corridor to where the two were standing. "Did the sketch offer any assistance?"

Calleigh smiled brightly as she said, "It did. You are very talented."

"Mais, non, I can only do very basic work. There was some tissue left which gave me clues."

Seeing her boss only had eyes for the anthropologist, Calleigh quietly excused herself. She walked down the hall thinking, 'it's about time he found someone!'

Both watched the blonde CSI until they were sure she was out of earshot.

Manon spoke first, hurriedly as if to keep some momentum leading to the question. "About the dinner date you mentioned today. I didn't give an answer and I apologize. I have some unfinished business at the museum this evening still. How about tomorrow?"

He apologetically admitted he would also be working until late this evening. Then, twisting his head and laying it to one side, he said that the next evening would be fine. The quizzical look on his face would have told anyone who knew him that he was sincerely hoping she was serious.

They set a time and part ways.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

A great deal of the lab crew's time the next day was spent in bagging and tagging all of the evidence from the two cases. They had to make sure it was all presentable in such a fashion the ADA could present it to a jury, help them to understand the crime and the murder's participation, and bring a verdict of guilty. Everyone's hope was that Letitia could be shown to have been incapable of making a sane decision and receive help.

Horatio's time alternated between the drudgery of paperwork and the wondrous amazement that he had met a woman who was intelligent, charming and attractive. As every hour passed, he found himself anticipating their date that night more and more. They were both involved in the same field of work, even though separated in degrees by approach, he dealing with recent crimes, she more often with ancient lifestyle. On rare occasion, as she had pointed out, she did deal with crimes. How many conversations could they have on that alone? But then, how long would it take before he could keep track of her words rather than how her lips moved or the way her hair moved as she emphasized a point, or her sparkling eyes?

'Paperwork,' he reminded himself, 'or you'll never get out of here!'

At home that evening he wondered how much fuss he should put into his dress and grooming. This was a second try but he didn't want to appear to be too worried about it. On the other hand, if he seemed too blasé would she take offense? Raised in Cajun country, he wondered if she were the downhome country sort or the old world courtly variety, especially when it came to romance.

He pondered if he even knew how to romance a woman of her background. It had been so long since those days in New York, since that time he had suffered the wound that nearly took his life, since the same man had killed his wife. The incident brought him to Miami, partly to be closer to his brother, partly just to get away from the Big Apple.

Now, here he was, getting ready to go out with the first woman he had honestly been attracted to in years and had no clue as to what to do. Would a bouquet of flowers be enough or too much? How would he know what clues to look for from her?

He guessed a jacket would be appropriate for the restaurant he had chosen and selected his light gray. The blue shirts were always a safe bet, he knew that. No tie. His little worn gray loafers of Italian leather, light and soft as butter would be good as well. Those he put by the bedroom door as he slipped into a pair of gray slacks of lightest wool.

Giving himself a last look, he walked out of his apartment, returned for his keys, walked out, returned for his shoes, and waited for his red face to return to its normal color before finally leaving.

When he finally knocked on her door, he could only hope he had anticipated all of the good, the bad, and the ugly of the evening.

This time, her dress was a riot of tropical color; green leaves and bright orchids. Instead of the full skirt, this was a sheath that showed curves he had previously not suspected and of which he most definitely approved.

She paused at the door and smiled flirtatiously, saying, "No crimes tonight?"

He grinned. "Nope, all buttoned up and my phone is off. I'll pick up the pieces tomorrow morning if I have to. How about you?"

"As much as I love recent archology, working at night among mosquitos and other bugs, it will all have to age one more night."

He waited for her to get her purse and wrap from someplace close to her door, close and lock it.

When they reached the car, she halted. "You are sure your phone is off? Does anyone know where you will be tonight?"

Horatio raised his hand, "No one knows where I will be. My phone is off," he raised his hand, "I swear."

She looked pointedly at the car door handle until he opened it, bent in and took the pale pink carnation from the seat.

"A gift to show my sorrow for the error of my ways last night?"

She smiled and kissed the simple flower. "This is one of my favorites. Merci."

# # #

Three weeks later they went on a picnic in Brickell Park. Since the first successful date, they had found they never had a lack of things to talk about whether it was their work, where they came from, or the aspirations for the future. For the first time in years, Horatio felt his tongue freed from the constraints he had put on it and he knew Manon held no judgment, only interest. Later that day they went for a long stroll, and watched a display of fireworks. In the last fantastic burst of color, noise and light, they kissed and found they couldn't stop. Horatio for one was glad only flashes exposed the long embrace.

Finally, in the dark, Horatio could barely whisper, "Your place or mine?"

Manon paused so long, he wondered if he had overstepped his bounds. With every instinct of manhood urging him to beg, plead for an answer he held his silence. Years of watching ADAs present their cases to juries, he knew that she still had reservations and that it was best to wait. He had stated his case in that simple phrase and now it was up to her to deliberate and then accept or not.

The seconds ticked by interminably until she said, "Did you bring an overnight kit in your car or shall we stop at your place to get one?"

He considered whether to admit he always had one, partly because police business sometimes made it best to have one and sometimes because he hoped there might someday be such an occasion as this. "I have one." He was glad she didn't ask why.

# # #

Before she could open the door to her unlocked apartment, he cornered her between his two long arms, leaned in and kissed her. She leaned back against the wall, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head to her lips pushing her hips against his body. Dropping one arm, he pulled her waist to his trying not to grind his hips against hers, not yet anyway.

She giggled as she turned her head whispering, "I have lovely, tolerant neighbors but I think even they have a limit."

Grinning, the tall red head wiped the corner of his lip with his thumb. "Never been tempted to test the limits?"

Giving a saucy toss of her head, she turned to open her door. She slipped in and then acted as if she were about to close it. She looked surprised at his advance. "What? You thought you were coming in?"

He paused as he cocked his head, waiting.

She put a finger to her cheek, "Ah, yes, I did invite you. Now I remember." She opened the door to admit him.

Now he knew to wait for the next move. He was on her territory and by her invitation so he would have to play by her rules. Not that he didn't like playing sex games, it was just that with each new partner, the rules changed. Being that Manon was an intelligent woman, he knew he had to learn to recognize her signals and then respond as she chose.

"Shall we get comfortable?" she said as she stepped out of her fashionable heels.

He took that as an invitation to remove his jacket.

She took it from him and laid it gently over the back of a chair close to the door. She also relieved him of the kit and put it purposefully on the couch cushions. Then she turned, literally walked into his arms, pulled his head down and kissed him purposefully on the lips.

He responded slightly deeper, wrapping his arms around her.

Both let out a sigh as they finished.

"I don't know about you," she said with a twinkle in her eyes, "but I would like to have you naked in bed."

"My thoughts exactly," he answered.

Saying nothing more, she took his hand and led him through a door from the living area. In there, she advanced to turn on a small bedside lamp and then closed the door.

Horatio observed how she moved. He couldn't help but be wary after a brief encounter several years before with a woman who, he found out too late, became rough in the bedroom. She had literally attacked him, tearing at his clothes, biting and scratching him. When he didn't respond in kind after throwing her off, she demanded he hit her and attacked him again. Only by restraining and handcuffing her to a door handle was he able to get dressed. Seeing him in civilized attire she calmed enough so he could release her, and retrieve his handcuffs. He left her rubbing her wrist. Ever after that, he knew to watch and hope.

In this case, she only did as any man could wish for. She threw down the bed covers and then unzipped her dress saying as she did, "I hope you don't make love in your clothing."

"No indeed, I don't." A chair by the highboy dresser seemed to be the best place to leave his clothing. He started with his shirt. Before he knew it, she, clad only in a dainty bra and the tiniest finest silk panties, advanced and pulled his shirt tail out to start unbuttoning at the bottom. When their fingers met so did their lips.

After that, it was an intertwining of hands helping the other out of one piece of garb and then another. How they managed with the two being so close was hard to say. By the time she pulled him to her bed, he was having a hard time keeping his thoughts straight.

Only with greatest effort that he cleared his mind so he could enjoy what he hoped was to come. After the enjoyment of letting her kiss him, he found she didn't mind that he wanted to feel her back and sides. Finally, he pushed her down onto her back and began to slowly allow his lips to explore her from her neck, to her shoulders and chest and then the sides of her small breasts. Finally he allowed himself to gently suck on first one nipple and then another and back. She heaved and sighed and smiled, while weaving her fingers through his hair.

When her reactions slowed, he moved down her ribs and then to her stomach, making her giggle lightly as he ran his tongue around her belly button. As he intended, he elicited another reaction as he kissed the join between her hips and thighs.

At this point he got up on his knees and crawled between her legs and then drew his hands from beside her breasts down to her knees and back. With each pass she sighed in bliss. Then he lowered his head as she pulled her knees up.

Moments later, she lay gasping and happy while he got up and washed his face in the bathroom. He returned to ask, "I take it I did it right?"

"Cho! Co! Cher, you did it most right for sure! I will have a hard time kissing you now because of the smile I have."

"Really?" He leaned over her. "Let's see." He kissed her.

As he expected, she somehow managed to kiss back. Still playing by her rules, now he laid on his back and let her have her delightful way with him, pleasing him in unexpected ways. Eventually, she seemed to sense she would only be teasing him if she went any further and so she laid back and welcomed him into her arms.

The explosion moments later came after a moment of being lost in time and space when he had no awareness of himself or her. Then, in a blazing display of fireworks, he felt her clutching at his back as he exhausted himself. In a haze, he pulled his weight from her and curled up, clutching at her in a helpless desire to remain one. She pushed herself between his legs and cuddled him.

When he came to a few moments later, looking into her eyes, and realized their positions, he was startled. He had occasionally found himself curled up like this when alone in bed but not with a woman. To find that she had fit herself against him in an apparent effort to comfort him was something no other woman had ever done.

"Ah, you rouse more quickly that many men. How do you feel?"

"Remember the corn flakes ad on TV from the 60s where the character says they are g-r-r-eat? That's how I feel. I seem to remember a favorable response on your side."

"Indeed, there was again."

"I'm glad." He leaned over to kiss her.

She responded and a few moments later, the two were tossing and rolling, entwined like two freshwater otters. Then their movements slowed and became more purposeful until it culminated again in a joining of mutual enjoyment.

Neither stirred after that until morning.

The End


End file.
